


Endure and Prevail

by In_Dee



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:34:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dee/pseuds/In_Dee
Summary: He spent a long time in captivity, fighting against his captor’s hold on him before finally managing to break free. But breaking out of captivity was only one part of the equation, staying ahead of his pursuers and making his way back home was a difficult undertaking considering he was alone and in sorry shape. Reaching out to his team, he still has to hold on until they can offer backup.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything and it’s never been anything for NCIS: L.A. before.  
> This story has no specific setting in a particular season, but it either happens before the end of season eight, or Michelle never died. Take your pick.  
> The story is unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine.

He had attacked after the phone call from the man in charge of all of this had been terminated. He had known the call would come, aware of the routine after all these months. It wasn’t the first time his captor left for several days. There would always be phone calls late in the evening, reminders of who was in charge of his captivity, whispered words of gloating and warning to behave after the guards were through with him.  
  
As soon as the guards were finished and had hung up, he had moved. In his head he had planned this for weeks, knowing if anything, this would be his window of opportunity. He had been very careful to present less of a threat the last few days to lull everyone into a false sense of security, curling up more, withdrawing further, shivering more pronounced - not that it had taken much pretending.  
  
The guard closest to him had fallen after a powerful strike to the throat, not quite out but down for the count. The second guard turned in surprise and didn’t quite recover quickly enough to prevent the chain from slipping over and around his head. The same chain that bound him to the wall now served to suffocate the man pulled against his chest. He took several blows to his abdomen, absorbing the impact and ignoring the pain. It didn’t do much to exacerbate the already screaming injuries anyway. The cuff tightened painfully around his wrist, cutting into already raw skin. He ignored that pain too. He needed to see this through. Letting the man slip to the floor when he slumped motionless against him, he returned his attention to the other guard, who was still struggling to draw breath. Two more blows to the head and the man went down. He followed him down and made sure this man, too, wouldn’t get up again. He couldn’t take the chance. He knew he was still out-numbered and in sorry shape. He couldn’t fight these men a second time if he allowed them to live. He simply didn’t have the strength and he was on his own, no back-up readily available.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Callen allowed himself a brief moment of rest before patting the first man down for the keys. Turning away from him and moving over to the other guard, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found the keys. He probably could have worked the lock open with one of the guards’ belt, picking the lock, but that too would take valuable time - time he didn’t have.  
  
Opening the cuff around his wrist, he flung the chains away from him, resisting the urge to rub his wrist. In the back of his mind, one word was stuck on repeat… time, time, time.  
  
He needed to move, needed to hurry up. Each moment counted. There were at least four more guards in the mansion. Stripping one dead guard of his clothes, he quickly dressed. The height fit, but the clothes hung on him. It didn’t matter. They had to do.  
  
Moving over to the door, he opened it and snuck outside after a quick glance. The hallway was empty. The rest of the guards would be upstairs. Considering the time of day, two would probably be asleep, resting for their next shift, while the other two or more patrolled the grounds - whether outside or inside, he didn’t know. He crept upstairs, feeling both exposed and vulnerable. He needed a weapon. He could fight with his hands, was trained and had honed those skills for years, but again, his body would be the limiting factor and he definitely wasn’t in peak condition. Actually, he wasn’t even in a good condition. He hurt all over. Callen had been through a lot of pain during his life, had learned to compartmentalize and ignore, but he still felt the ache that ran deep.  
  
Standing still on the top of the stairs, he waited, listening intently. Nothing. No sounds reached him and he quietly made his way out of the stairwell and into the corridor, following it. Ending up in the kitchen, he hurried over to the counter. A knife would do for starters. Curling his fingers around his weapon of choice, he felt something settle inside of him - a feeling of calm and a surge of strength. His chances were looking up. Smiling a dark smile, he crept further, pausing briefly by the entrance door. All of his being wanted to just head outside and run away, but experience, training and his instincts screamed at him to remain in control and make sure there was no threat left before he fled. He found the first bedroom upstairs, a figure sleeping peacefully in the bed. A single strike with the knife took care of this man. If he had more strength, he might have drawn this out, both fear and intense hatred surging through him upon seeing this particular face. As it was, a single strike was all he allowed himself and all he needed. Keep your strength, don’t waste precious energy. He cleaned the blood from the knife by wiping it on the bed sheets before moving on.  
  
The second bedroom was empty, the third a repeat action of the first. He took the gun from the bedside table and put it into the back of his pants, knowing he would feel better for the firepower later, but equally knowing he needed the stealth the knife provided for now. The last rooms were empty and he made his way back downstairs, trying to prepare himself for the remaining fights. The last guards would be the most dangerous. They were on guard duty and therefore more alert. All of the guards were trained well, were professionals and mercenaries. He just hoped that the edge of desperation and the lure of freedom would be enough to give him an opening against them.  
  
Coming downstairs, Callen saw the front door move and pushed forward, crashing into a guard that had just entered the house. Surprised by the prisoner’s appearance, the guard scrambled to recover but Callen acted more quickly, slashing the knife into the other’s chest. The angle was bad, the wound non fatal and the guard retaliated with a kick to his leg. He hissed in pain but somehow remained standing, glad the guard had kicked at his right leg. He wasn’t sure if his left knee would have withstood this blow. Moving as quickly as he could, he struck a second and third time with the knife. Those strikes were blocked but left wounds on the other man’s forearm. Feeling the control of the fight quickly slipping away from him, he feinted left and then moved right, barely slipping past the other man’s guard. A series of blows to the head and another slash of the knife to the torso and the other man finally went down.  
  
Sinking to his knees, panting harshly, Callen tried to gather what little strength he had left. He needed to finish this and he desperately hoped that there would be only one more guard left. He wasn’t sure he could withstand much more.  
  
Stumbling back to his feet, he glanced outside, moving far more slowly now. The guard had gotten a few vicious punches in and he felt unstable on his feet - well, more unstable than before. Slipping out of the front door, he moved to the right, into the shadows and paused, listening again. The darkness hid him well and he waited until he heard the faint crunch of gravel, the sound approaching. Shifting the knife in his hand, he settled himself into a ready stance. He would wait for the guard to come, minimizing the energy he would have to spend.  
  
Once the guard moved around the corner, Callen forced himself into action. One step, two, then he was on top of the man. The element of surprise was again barely enough. Still, it was that brief moment that let him get the upper hand and subdue his opponent.  
  
Again, he barely allowed himself a moment to recover before forcing himself on. The next minutes were spent by making a quick check of the grounds. No more guards appeared.  
  
Returning to the front of the house, he knelt by the last guard he had killed, checking his pockets for a cell phone. His hand trembled when he found it. He was so close to getting help, but he knew he couldn’t call anyone from this phone. It would be an easy lead for his captor to check. The only thing he needed this cell phone for was directions. He had seen the car parked on the left side of the house, knew he could hotwire it and get away from this place, but he needed to know where exactly he was and which direction to go.  
  
Sending a prayer of thanks to whoever was listening when there was no password required, he allowed the GPS to connect and place his current location on the map; approximately 60 miles from St. Petersburg. The location came as no real surprise considering who his captor was and what he’d seen of the area during his last attempt at freedom. Plus he had seen the plates on the car by the house just now and they had definitely not been American.  
  
While he knew that this meant that help in form of his team was far away, St. Petersburg was not the worst place he could have ended up in. He still had some hidden stashes as well as some contacts there, contacts that could help him immensely. Studying the map and memorizing where to go, he nodded to himself before dismantling the phone and destroying the SIM card. The less options he left his nemesis to see what he had looked at, the better.  
  
Standing with a groan, clenching his teeth when pain shot through his left leg, Callen pushed himself towards the car and crowed when he found it unlocked. At least he didn’t have to try and get in. Spots danced briefly in front of his eyes when he bent down to get to the wires, but he determinedly blinked them away. Not now. Unconsciousness simply wasn’t an option. The engine started rumbling moments later and with a sigh of relief and pain both, he slid into the driver’s seat.  
  
He needed to move. He didn’t have any time to lose. While the first part of his escape had worked, he knew that a lot of this was based on ‘what if’s. He had known the first part of the routine, the phone call, the number of guards in the room with him and a good estimation of how many more were in the mansion. What he didn’t know was the other side of the coin… what their routine after the phone call, after they left his cell, looked like. Would there be a guard rotation during the night or morning when additional men came to the mansion? Would the men call in to his captor again sometime during the night? Things like that made his situation still more than precarious. Callen knew he needed every second of a head start he could get.  
  
It was time to go, leave this wretched place of darkness, pain and captivity behind.  
  
Xxxxxxx  
  
Driving the hour into St. Petersburg had taken a lot out of him. Stopping the car as close to his destination as he could, he killed the engine by ripping the wires apart. The silence that followed sunk into his bones, coupling with the fatigue and trying to drag him down. His hands shaking, but not giving himself time to rest, knowing he didn’t have the luxury to do so, Callen painfully got out of the car. He closed the door and then entered the graveyard, making his way to a specific crypt as quickly as his battered state allowed. There was a lock on the door, but the combination was still the same it had been all those years ago. Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered the darkened crypt and headed over to a section of the wall that held a hidden compartment. Years after leaving passports, money and weapons here, he came to collect. But more so, he needed the cell phone that was stashed there. It was an old cell phone, some prepaid minutes on the card. The battery was certainly flat by now, but touching it felt like a weight was lifting from his shoulders. He was another step closer to getting away.  
  
Barely five minutes after entering the place, he left it and walked into the opposite direction from where he had come. He would prefer to take the car to get to one of his old contacts, but he knew it would be too risky. The hour driving into St. Petersburg was already pushing it. If anyone had noticed his escape already, the plates and description of the car would soon be out there and considering who his captor was, he would have ways to get the police to do his bidding and look for the car. Had he been in a better physical state, Callen would have tried stealing another car on the way to try and shake any possible tails. As it was, he couldn’t have done it, was taxed to the limit already.  
  
Concentrating on walking, his brain was at the same time occupied with planning the next steps. He needed to call his team. He knew he could hold on for a while, but he needed the help to escape and get home. Home. A feeling of both hope and longing shot through him, almost choking him in its intensity. He shook his head to dispel the moment, reaching out a hand to steady himself on a brick wall when he stumbled. He needed to stay focused. He could crash and collapse later. Much later.  
  
Navigating through the old city, he finally ended up where he had planned to go. It was in the middle of the night but he knew he would still find his old contact here. Crime never slept after all. And Pavel was basically a criminal. Pounding on the door, Callen waited, leaning against the wall next to the entrance. When nothing happened, he pounded on the door again, finally hearing the faint noise of steps.  
  
“Pavel, open up. It’s Dimitrij,” he called out in Russian.  
  
The lock clicked and the door opened, revealing the face of a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair, a mustache and dark eyes. “Dimitrij?”  
  
“I need your help,” Callen muttered softly when looked up. He watched the eyes of the other man roam over him, taking in his battered form and his posture.  
  
When the door opened wider, he slipped inside, allowing himself to be led into the small flat that doubled as both home and office for Pavel. “You look like you need a doctor and not my help,” the other man stated when he turned to face Callen again.  
  
He shook his head. “Not now. I need to get out of here first.” Pavel could get him out of St. Petersburg. The other man was a pilot, had a plane and regularly flew… cargo… around. Pavel also sometimes flew people… for the right price. He took off the backpack he had acquired on the graveyard and opened it, reaching inside to take out several stacks of money, putting them down in front of Pavel. Picking up the money, Pavel nodded before turning away again and walking over to a side door. “I guess you don’t want to wait… I’ll get dressed.”  
  
Callen reached into the backpack again, withdrawing the cell phone and plugging the charger into a socket, hoping to charge the battery so he would have a few minutes. He didn’t need much; the call would have to be short anyway, a few minutes maximum to make sure no one could locate him.  
  
When Pavel returned several minutes later, Callen looked up from his slouched position against the wall. He ignored the raised eyebrow and shook himself awake again. “I could have given you a phone,” the other man stated with a nod towards where Callen had plugged the phone in.  
  
“Too risky,” he declined, looking at the display and the battery status. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. He sighed.  
  
“You can charge it further in the car,” Pavel offered and Callen smiled tiredly at the man. He had known Pavel for many years and they shared a somewhat strange friendship. Pavel was a small time criminal, a smuggler, but he was also at heart a good man and Callen knew he could trust him. There wasn’t much he knew right now, but he knew he could trust Pavel. He had never let him down.  
  
Callen dozed fitfully during the drive, resting for a few minutes without letting himself sink deeper into the exhaustion that was dragging on him. Not yet. He could possibly sleep on the flight. He would have two hours before they got to Kaliningrad. It was still Russian territory, but it was a good distance from St. Petersburg and he had another contact there that could help him out. He knew having Pavel fly him into another country would be risky for both him and the other man. Border control would be trickier if they touched down outside of Russia. He needed to get himself out of Russia alone. So Kaliningrad would be best for now.  
  
Arriving at the small airstrip where Pavel kept his plane, the other man reached over to shake him awake. Shying away from the touch before it could be made, part of his being still very much awake and ready to defend himself, Callen sat up and rubbed a hand over his face, ignoring the stare that Pavel sent his way.  
  
“Do your pre-flight routine. I’ll be inside in a moment,” Callen instructed, waiting for the car to come to a stop and getting out of the vehicle together with Pavel who didn’t question his words but simply moved towards his plane.  
  
Callen leaned against the car and fingered the cell phone. It would be so easy to call it in, or even just send an agent in distress signal. Just a few numbers, but he knew he couldn’t go that way. His captor had gloated more than once that he had inside information and a way of knowing things. Callen hadn’t found out whether that was due to an inside man or by being able to get into their systems. Knowing what the man was capable of, it could be both, so making official contact with NCIS was simply out of the question. That reduced his options as he knew that any burn phone anyone of his team mates had were either routed through NCIS or probably not switched on. He didn’t doubt that Sam and Hetty would have left any burn phone switched on day and night in the beginning, but not after so much time had passed. He guessed that he could go via a message board that Eric had set up years ago, but that posed more trouble… he would probably need more brain capacity to word the message carefully enough to slip through the cracks while at the same time getting Eric’s attention. On top of that it still posed the problem that Eric would probably find the message while at work and set everything in motion officially and therefore exposing him again to his captor. The third problem with that idea was that the cell phone he held didn’t have internet access.  
  
That left him with the last option and he desperately hoped that this would work, that the number hadn’t been changed by the CIA and that her phone wasn’t under the same surveillance by his captor that he expected for his team mates and their NCIS systems.  
  
Typing in the number, Callen waited for the call to connect, closing his eyes.  
  
“Who’s this?”  
  
Relief rushed him, so strong it made him shake. Callen steadied himself against the car. “Michelle,” he breathed, the single word barely audible.  
  
There was a brief second of a pause, then… “Callen?” Shock and hope both swung in that one word. In the background he heard a chair scrape, movement coming closer while there was a quiet click as the phone was placed down, background noise changing when it was put on loudspeaker. “G? Is that you?” a male voice queried.  
  
Sam. His partner. His brother. The man he trusted beyond anything. He closed his eyes, letting the voice wash over him. “I want to come home, Sam.” Not what he had planned to say, especially not in that tone of voice. He could hear the despair and the forlorn tone, the way his voice cracked. He barely swallowed back the sob that tried to crawl out of his throat.  
  
The pause was minimal and he could imagine his partner exchanging a worried glance with his wife. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come and pick you up,” Sam said calmly, using the voice he reserved for people that were at the end of their rope. Probably a good description for his current state, he reckoned.  
  
A scoff that still held a desperate note escaped him. “It’s not that easy, partner,” Callen muttered, straightening up. He needed to get himself back under control. He required distinct help from his team and he had made contact. His lifeline was in reach and he could now tell them what he needed. “Look, Sam, I don’t have much time. Get the team together but do it without using official channels. I don’t know if there’s an insider selling info or if he’s in the systems, but I can’t risk it. I need to stay out of his reach but I can’t do this without you,” Callen said, already anticipating the pause at his admission of needing help. He knew this was out of character for him, would worry Sam even more, but it was simply a statement of facts. He needed help.  
  
“What else do you need?” Michelle’s voice dragged Callen back from the contemplation his mind had conjured up. A small smile tugged at the corner’s of his lips. His partner’s wife, tough as nails, Michelle. She was incredibly caring but at the same time she could kick your ass. Callen had spent a lot of time on their couch or guest room, recuperating from injuries or simply hiding from the loneliness of his existence and his memories. He was lucky to have not only Sam and the team behind him but also his partner’s wife, an agent in her own right.  
  
“For the moment just that you get the team together, get the wonder twins to bring some equipment and wait for me to make contact again.”  
  
“No, not enough. Give me your location and who’s behind this,” Sam insisted.  
  
He was right, of course. In case Callen’s plans fell through and he was recaptured, the team would need a starting point. He knew there would have been nothing to go on for them or they would have found him a long time ago. His captor was very good at hiding though and wouldn’t have left anything for them to follow.  
  
“I’m currently in St. Petersburg, about to fly to Kaliningrad with an old contact,” Callen told him.  
  
There was a shocked pause, though Callen wasn’t quite sure why no one had suspected him to be not only out of their reach but out of the country. Enough time had passed for him to have been shipped all over the planet. He mentally shrugged; nothing to dwell on for now. “The man behind this is Ivan Abramov. I gotta go now, Sam. I’ll call again in about two or three hours, once I’m in Kaliningrad. Keep Michelle’s phone on.”  
  
“Alright. Stay safe, partner. We’ll get you out,” Sam told him. Callen clung to the words, letting them sink into his brain to soothe his fears and bolster his courage. He could hold on until they came. He hung up, before dismantling the phone and scattering the pieces. Drawing a shaky breath, he turned and strode over to the plane, which engines started rumbling in that moment.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it's always a worry with WIPs that the story is abandoned: relax! The story is completely written. I may continue editing and polishing in some minor ways, but that doesn't impede on the story's completition. There's about 30k words left, so buckle up for the ride ;)

They had enjoyed a quiet meal together, a rare weekend off without a terrorist or other national security threat. Kamran was away with Michelle’s parents for the week and therefore they were alone. When Michelle’s phone rang shortly after lunch, Sam barely glanced up. Only the frown his wife sent the phone before picking it up, querying who was calling, made him focus on her after all.

It was the shocked “Callen?” falling from his wife’s lips that had Sam out of his seat hurrying over to where Michelle stood, her wide eyes meeting his. She fumbled briefly with the phone before putting it down on the table and activating the loud speaker at the same time. Sam’s eyes were on the phone, as if his partner would materialize straight from it. “G?” he asked, sending a brief prayer that Michelle wasn’t mistaken. “Is that you?”

There was a short pause on the other end, nearly making Sam repeat his question.

“I want to come home, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes flew over to Michelle’s and he saw the same worry reflected in them that he knew would be in his own expression. It was G’s voice, but the words were so unlike his partner, the tone of voice completely out of character. Sam could easily hear the emotions that the usually so closed off and guarded man normally wouldn’t show. Despair, fear, pain and so much more mingled together. This was not the controlled and capable special agent. This version of Callen was unknown to him, a lonely and frightened individual reaching out for help.

He swallowed his own emotions. Callen sounded as if he needed someone in control, someone to calm him down and soothe him. “Tell me where you are and I’ll come and pick you up.” Anything else could come after that. They only needed to get G home, everything else could come after that.

There was a scoff, a little closer to his partner’s usual exclamations though undertones of the desperation still swung with it. Michelle reached out and placed her hand over Sam’s, offering silent support.

“It’s not that easy, partner.” In Sam’s world it was, but before he could put that into words, G continued, his voice firming and loosing the panicked edge somewhat. “Look, Sam, I don’t have much time. Get the team together but do it without using official channels. I don’t know if there’s an insider selling info or if he’s in the systems, but I can’t risk it. I need to stay out of his reach but I can’t do this without you.”

His fingers tightened around Michelle’s. Again, this was very unlike G and it made the situation all the more volatile. If G admitted needing help, he was really at the end of his rope and in bad shape. Sam closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath.

“What else do you need?” His wife cut in, giving Sam a much needed moment to calm himself. He gave her a soft smile of thanks before refocusing on the conversation.

“For the moment just that you get the team together, get the wonder twins to bring some equipment and wait for me to make contact again.” G’s voice had softened when he uttered his demand, telling both Sam and Michelle that he appreciated her input. Once he had allowed himself to accept that Sam’s family also included G, once he had allowed himself to relax into the family, he had gotten closer to all of them and Sam knew that G held a lot of respect for Michelle.

Sam shook his head firmly. “No, not enough. Give me your location and who’s behind this,” he insisted. G had reached out and asked for help. Sam wouldn’t allow him to run off with some half-cooked idea on his own. G said he needed back-up and he would get it. And if he was in too bad shape to get his sorry ass out of this mess on his own, the team would need to know where to go to get G out.

When G had vanished into thin air ten months prior, it had nearly fractured the team. It was Dom all over again, just somehow worse. How someone like Callen, who tried to keep everyone at arm’s length and barely left any traces of his existence, could be the focal point of a group of people, could somehow act as the glue that held their makeshift family together, was beyond Sam’s understanding, but it was true. Running around in circles after his disappearance, chasing their tails and invisible leads, had left everyone shattered. Hetty had aged years in the span of weeks, Kensi had looked lost and the wonder twins had worked themselves to the ground, trying to unearth even the smallest hint. Deeks had overcompensated with irony, still his efforts had left him exhausted and his humor had been a barely upheld front to hide away the loss. They had all lost their focal point, had somehow been spinning out of orbit. They had somehow managed to hold on, to not break apart, but it hadn’t been easy… still wasn’t.

“I’m currently in St. Petersburg, about to fly to Kaliningrad with an old contact,” Callen told them, making Sam’s eyes snap to the phone. It had been a possibility of course, that G wasn’t even in the United States anymore, but no one had really wanted to entertain that possibility because it meant that G was well out of their immediate reach. Hearing those words now also explained why his partner had said it wouldn’t be quite as easy as stopping by and picking him up. G was literally half a world away. Sam swallowed the swear words that threatened to escape, instead listening when his partner went on. “The man behind this is Ivan Abramov. I gotta go now, Sam. I’ll call again in about two or three hours, once I’m in Kaliningrad. Keep Michelle’s phone on.”

The clock in his head was ticking, telling Sam that the phone call had taken about one and a half minutes so far, making tracking nearly impossible. His partner was beyond cautious right now. And obviously he had every reason to be. Abramov was a powerful man, a politician with a lot of money to top it off.

Time to reassure his partner, make sure he would know to count on them. They would not leave a stone unturned to find him now. “Alright. Stay safe, partner. We’ll get you out,” Sam said calmly. He listened to G drawing a shaky breath before the call terminated.

Both Sam and Michelle stood motionless in their kitchen for a moment, both of them digesting what had just happened. They both straightened at the same time and looked at each other, silent understanding passing between them. G was family. They would do everything they could to get him home and help him. Still… “He sounded bad,” Sam muttered. Michelle moved around the kitchen counter and put a hand against his cheek. “Ten months, Sam. If Callen couldn’t get away before, it would have been bad. That’s not what matters now though. Getting him home does. We can patch him up once he’s back with us. Focus on that.”

He knew his wife was right. Leaning into her palm, he nodded. “Let’s get the team. I’ll call them. Kensi and Deeks will be together, as should the wonder twins be. Can you pick up Kensi and Deeks? I’ll get the others and we’ll meet at a place of Hetty’s choosing.” He didn’t for a moment think that Michelle would sit this one out. G was as much her family as he was Sam’s. If he even tried to keep her at home, he would probably not even sleep on the couch but outside of his own house for the foreseeable future.

Michelle nodded before turning and moving into their bedroom. When she returned, she held up one of the burn phones they kept in the safe and Sam smiled in gratitude. While G had said he would only call again in a few hours, Sam wouldn’t want to part with Michelle’s cell phone, the somehow tangible lifeline to his best friend and brother.

Having taken out his own phone, Sam dialed Deeks’ number, waiting for the detective to pick up. “Hey Deeks, Michelle is about to swing by to fetch you for our planned picnic. You better be ready when she arrives,” Sam told the other man. Callen had cautioned them against using official channels and Sam was inclined to err on the side of caution. Just in case their phone lines were bugged, this would at least delay anyone from drawing direct conclusions.

There was just a brief pause at Deeks’ end, before he smoothly agreed, “sure, we’ll be ready. Anything we should bring or do you guys have everything prepared already?”

Sam smiled. While he had been skeptical at best of the detective when he had first been added to the team, the man had earned his respect over the years. He had grown into a fine member of their team and he was incredibly quick in thinking on his feet. Turning to Michelle, he gave her a nod when she raised a questioning eyebrow. She held up a note with the number of the burn phone she had picked. Giving her a smile in return, he watched as she headed out the house.

“Michelle’s got everything in hand on that front. We’ll just need some additional tuff. She’ll tell you once she arrive,” Sam told Deeks, refocusing on the conversation. He couldn’t exactly tell the other man that they would need their go-bags and passports. Michelle would take care of that once she met up with them.

“Alright. We’ll see you in a bit,” Deeks answered before ringing off.

Sam had barely hung up when he dialed the next number. Nell. Their analyst and agent in training was the better choice for such a phone call compared to Eric. Sam only hoped they were spending the weekend together as they had planned. He didn’t want to make another phone call. Then again, he could leave that to Nell. Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Sam.”

“Nell. Are you and Eric ready? Michelle is on her way to pick up Kensi and Deeks and I’m about to leave to fetch you guys for our picnic,” Sam told her, hoping she would be as quick to catch up as Deeks had been.

The pause was a little bit more pronounced than the one with the detective had been. “Uhm. Yeah, no, not quite. Eric will be here in about fifteen minutes, I think,” Nell said cautiously.

“That’s fine. I’ll need about half an hour to your place. Just be ready by then.”

“Alright, no problem. We can do that,” Nell said, no more hesitation in her voice. Good girl.

“Good, see you then,” Sam said and hung up. Only one more phone call to go: Hetty. He had no idea where she would be today but he had absolutely no illusions about needing her in this. Her guidance and counsel was integral to dealing with this, and her influence and managing skills were integral to getting this done.

“Mr. Hanna,” he heard Hetty’s voice once the call picked up, “what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me where we’ll meet up for the picnic. Michelle is picking up Kensi and Deeks, I’ll bring Nell and Eric. We just need to know where to go and you’ve been tightlipped until now,” Sam said lightly. The old spy would catch up and Sam didn’t expect any hesitation or pause in the conversation.

“Why, Mr. Hanna? A bit of suspense never hurt anyone. I’ve picked the perfect place for this particular team gathering. I’ll send the details to your phone and you can forward them to your wife. I’m looking forward to seeing you there,” Hetty said promptly, just as Sam had anticipated. Canny old woman - not that he would call her old in her face. He didn’t have a death wish.

“We’ll be there in an hour or so,” Sam told her with a smile and hung up. Time to get going. He moved into the bedroom. Michelle had left their safe open and Sam took out several passports, real and fake, and a back-up weapon for each of them. Taking both their go-bags out of the wardrobe, he left the room. It was times like this that he was thankful that Michelle had never gotten out of the habit of being able to leave at a moment’s notice.

Xxxxxxx

The door opened before Michelle had the chance to ring the bell. Deeks stood in the entrance, Kensi half a step behind, both of them wearing matching looks of intrigue and confusion. Michelle gave both of them a brief hug while she passed them, muttering a “hello”.

“So, what is it?” Kensi asked when Michelle turned to them and Deeks had closed the door.

“Grab your go-bags and passport - official and fakes. Callen made contact with us and he’s going to need help to get home,” Michelle told them, not beating around the bush.

There was a moment of hesitation in both of them and Michelle could tell they wanted to ask questions, but both of them simultaneously decided against it, instead turning and heading upstairs to get what they needed. Michelle smiled slightly. There would be questions later, but all of them were people of action and they knew that getting a move on now was more important than getting the facts.

Xxxxxxxx

Sam knocked on the door, waiting impatiently. “Come on, Nell, we don’t have all day,” he called through the closed door. The urge to move, to finally be able to do something was tearing at him. As soon as the door opened, Sam stepped inside. “Callen made contact. Grab whatever equipment you’re going to need. This will be off the books for now. He suspects either an insider or someone in our systems, so going to OPS is out of question.”

“Wait! What do you mean, Callen made contact?” Eric jumped up from the couch, his eyes wide.

“Exactly what I said, Beale,” Sam retorted, “come on. Time is of the essence. I’ll answer your questions later. We’ll brief the team, but for now you two need to gather what we’re going to need. I know you have equipment lying around for occasions like this.” He barely resisted clapping his hands and making shooing motions.

Nell jumped into action first, Eric following moments later. He could tell they had questions and he would answer them, but later. For now, they needed to get moving. ‘We’ll get you out, G,’ he promised silently, taking two bags that Nell handed him, watching as their techs gathered some more stuff before they all headed back outside.

Xxxxxxx

Hetty was already waiting for them when Sam reached Dovecoat with the techs. Michelle’s car was also there, so they could get right down to business. When Sam approached their operations manager, they shared a brief glance.

Michelle had obviously already briefed Hetty. He could see both the hope and resolution in the old spy’s eyes, feelings he was sure were reflected in his own eyes. Giving him a small smile, Hetty stepped aside to let them enter.

“Let’s get him home,” she said determinedly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as my research went, there was no direct train from Kaliningrad to Warsaw, but for the sake of this story, let's just pretend that there is one. As for the part with the passport entries; not sure if that would be possible or if anyone would offer such a "service" but again, let's just pretend ;)

He tried resting on the flight, knowing that - for the moment - things were out of his hands. Still, his mind didn’t allow him to relax and get the rest his body so desperately needed. He still vaguely remembered the last flights - in the dubious presence of Abramov and his cronies. The flights themselves had mostly been spent in a drugged haze so he wouldn’t give them any trouble, but more so he remembered what came after. His captor had taken him along for some of his more “stressful business” trips as a punching bag and stress relief. Those trips had left their own scars and impressions on Callen’s body and mind. While some of the adrenaline of the initial escape from Abramov’s mansion of horror had drained away, leaving him empty and hurting, he just couldn’t switch off. He would have preferred to keep moving, but he was incredibly exhausted and forced himself to sit still and get whatever rest he could manage.

Once Pavel announced their impending arrival, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t safe by any means, but he had put valuable distance between himself and his captor. Kaliningrad was still part of Russia and as long as he was still inside those borders, he was at high risk. Crossing the border into Poland as he planned would lower the risk somewhat, but he would only allow himself to lower his guard when was with the team and felt safe enough to do so.

When the plane rolled to a stop, he stood, moving into the cockpit to thank his old contact. Before he could say anything, Pavel turned to him and then put some keys into Callen’s hand. “There’s a car on the side of the hangar. I use it regularly when I’m here. Take it to get to where you need to go within the city. Don’t cross the border with it though.”

Callen looked at the other man, stunned. This was far more than he could have hoped for from the other man. “Pavel…” he started, only to be interrupted.

“Just do it. Don’t question it. Go, Dimitrij,” the other said firmly, waving him towards the back of the plane.

Callen paused briefly in the door to the cockpit, turning around again. “Thank you!” he murmured, the words heartfelt. It seemed there were still some people out there who weren’t hell bent on destroying everything in their path. After the last months of captivity, this was something he didn’t take for granted.

Leaving the plane, he moved towards where Pavel had said the car was parked. He felt stiff. Everything hurt, his knee and shoulder were screaming for attention, his back chiming in every few steps as well. Shaking his head, Callen pushed on, fighting to ignore his body’s pain, knowing he couldn’t pay attention to it now. Not yet.

He drove into the city, glad that he had also worked in Kaliningrad for long enough to know his way around even in the middle of the night. The darkness hid him while he navigated into the shadier areas. Another contact, another criminal, though this one of a completely different caliber than Pavel had been. Sergey was part of the Russian mob, ruthless and not always the nicest man to be around. Still, he could give Callen what he needed.

Parking the car and making his way through the dimly lit streets that got narrower the further he ventured into the district, he kept an eye on the shadows. It wouldn’t do to be surprised by thugs. Entering the alleyway where Sergey held his headquarters, Callen glared at the shadows that shifted to his right. “Tell Sergey that Andrej is calling in his debt,” he stated in Russian, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The ball was in Sergey’s court now.

Watching the shadows move, he waited, forcing himself not to shift his weight, even if his knee was threatening to buckle by now.

Three minutes went by before he sensed someone approach. “Sergey is waiting for you. Follow me.”

Callen stepped forward, moving into the darkness and following the near silent footsteps and the faint outline of a man in front of him around the corner and over to a door that had been set into the stone. The light inside the hallway was dim, only brightening slowly after two more corners had been turned, giving the men’s eyes time to adjust slowly. The corridor was a bottleneck setup, difficult to breach and a good safety net.

The hallway opened up into a larger area, several desks strategically placed and more doors leading off to different areas. Several men stood to the side, obviously bodyguards and subordinates. Sergey stood in the middle of the room. Despite leaning casually against one of the desks, his figure was still imposing. Immaculately dressed in a designer suit, despite the hour of the night, he watched Callen enter, his expression guarded. “So, you’re calling in your debt now, Andrej? I had thought you’d forgotten about that.”

“There’s a time for everything. A favor owed by Sergey is not something you forget, and not something to give away on a whim,” Callen stated simply, making eye contact and holding it. He might be dressed in little more than rags right now, nowhere near the immaculate figure Sergey presented or the well-dressed man he had been to Sergey once, but he hoped there was still some form of resilience shining through, projecting the tough guy image Sergey had gotten to know years prior.

The dark haired man held his stare for several silent moments before his features turned into a calculating smile. “Flattery, Andrej?”

“Stating fact.” He shrugged his shoulder, hiding the wince that tried to break free.

Another moment of silence, then the other man tilted his head to the side in acknowledgement. “Very well. What is it you require?”

Callen shrugged off the backpack slowly, keeping his hands visible and his eyes on the other men in the room. He hadn’t been searched, a sign that Sergey still remembered him and valued his honor. The mobster was careful, but as Pavel, he had known Callen’s alias years ago and they had fought together… having taken a bullet for Sergey may have added credibility to his character as well. His actions from back then therefore gave Callen some measure of trust. He slowly opened the backpack. “Passport. I need entries dating back several months: often enough to be marked as a frequent crosser but not enough to be known by the border guards. Different border control points in the south west. Some more by airports,” he said, showing Sergey a passport he had liberated from the graveyard in St. Petersburg. It was an older passport but still valid. The only trouble was the blank spaces. He needed to be inconspicuous and being a first timer crossing the border between Russia and Poland might be questioned too much. It was a somewhat unusual request he had. Usually, someone would come to get a passport in the first place, not to forge entries in an existing passport. Sergey could do both though and today, Callen needed entries forged, not a passport.

Sergey reached for the passport and looked inside before holding it out to one of the men standing in the room, handing it off without looking. The subordinate took the passport and left the room through a side door. “What else?”

Callen smiled. The other man had anticipated that this was not all. Then again, this was merely scratching the surface of the debt owed. “Three burn phones. Untracable. No GPS. No internet. Old school,” he said. He needed several phones so he could rotate them and not get tracked and caught. “An exchange of currency from Russian Ruble to Zloty and Euro,” he reached into the backpack again and withdrew the cash he had in there. He needed to pay cash later in other countries and he wouldn’t get far with Russian currency in Europe - and even if he could pay with Ruble, it would be unusual enough to be noted and therefore leave a trail to follow. “An unmarked car to cross the border. No hidden compartments or other shit that the border patrol could get suspicious of.” He gave Sergey a hard stare.

“You wound me, old friend,” Sergey put a hand over his heart, his face set into a smirk.

Callen smirked back, “I know you like to… optimize your actions, but not tonight.” He didn’t threaten the other. That would be a bad move. Sergey didn’t take kindly to threats.

Sergey finally relented with another nod. Another man went through a different door, presumably to fetch the phones, money and keys to a car. “Come, this will take a few minutes. My mama would be embarrassed if I didn’t at least offer you a drink.”

“How is Svetlana? The family business in Moscow running smoothly?” Callen asked, following Sergey into his office.

“Had a bit of trouble with some newcomers a few months back. Nothing she couldn’t handle,” Sergey shrugged, pouring them both a shot of vodka.

Callen knew that drinking alcohol now was somewhat risky. He hadn’t had anything substantial to eat in a long while and he was exhausted. He could only hope that his body still held the high tolerance to alcohol he had always had. The numbing effects of the vodka would be appreciated though.

“Looks like you had some trouble as well. Can you handle it?” Sergey asked, giving him a pointed once over.

Callen arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of the vodka the other man handed to him. Sergey was trying to sniff out a weakness. “I am handling it.”

“With my help,” the other pointed out smoothly.

“I remember a time when I did the same for you,” he stated simply, watching as the other man backed down again, once more with a smirk. This was the way Sergey played games. Callen was well versed in them though, so that was alright. He was still coherent enough not to fall for any surprising traps Sergey might set up with his games.

Both men fell silent, quietly contemplating the moment while sipping their drinks. Callen leaned against the wall, feeling himself drifting somewhat. Nothing to do with the alcohol, just the exhaustion dragging at him and the brief respite the surroundings offered allowing himself to relax a little. For this moment right now, he was safe. Still, a voice in the back of his head was telling him that he was far from safe, that his captor was close on his heels. It was instinct, that tingling feeling he knew. He’d had it many times before, one of them being the days before the shooting in Venice. He had learned to listen to this feeling.

His mind moved on, following another direction, sticking to what he knew and what he had planned. He had a rather clear idea of his next steps. Still, a lot of things were prone to change and he knew he might have to go with the flow at some point. He had always been good at adapting, but this time it seemed different, harder to do.

He had been captured and tortured before, but this time his foe had managed to thwart him thoroughly, making escape impossible before. During his first two attempts he hadn’t even managed to get out of the house. It was only during the third one that he had gotten outside, made his way into the woods surrounding the property. The flight had lasted several hours before he had been found, somehow accurately located by the men following him. He had fled blindly in the beginning, sure, leaving a trail of broken branches and footprints behind, but after those first moments of simply putting distance between himself and the place of captivity, he had switched back to calculated movements, following his training. He had stepped more carefully, minimizing his trail, had purposefully turned left instead of right as was a classic human weakness. He had crossed some streams, had followed them, even moving inside of the stream to throw off any dogs that might be brought in. He hadn’t heard any noises of pursuit right up to the moment they had been upon him, taking him down with brutal efficiency and beating him into submission - and unconsciousness - then and there. He had never questioned that ending to his escape before, the next days or weeks spent in a world of pain and fever from what they had done to him.

He was questioning the ending now. How had they located him?

Callen straightened sharply, his brain starting to run a mile a minute, turning over facts and making connections. Cold sweat started to run down his back, aggravating wounds that were barely healed. “Sergey. You got a detector?” he asked.

The other man turned towards him, frowning when he took in Callen’s expression. “Da. Of course.”

“Get it and check me over.”

An eyebrow rose, the eyes never leaving Callen, watching his movements and facial expression, again searching for a weakness. He would probably find one now. “What do I get for that?”

The debt had been paid as soon as they finished their negotiation in the front of the office. “A stack of cash,” Callen gave back simply, holding himself together by sheer strength of will. He had enough currency to pay Sergey and this couldn’t be ignored. If he had a tracker on him, he needed to get rid of it or he could simply head back to the place of captivity on his own and spare his captor the trip.

Inclining his head, Sergey turned and pushed a button on the intercom, giving his demand for a tracking detector.

Callen hoped he was wrong, but his instinct was telling him that he wasn’t. This added a whole new dimension to his bid for freedom. The risk was even higher than he had anticipated.

When the door opened behind him, he startled, barely keeping from whirling around. Sergey was still watching him, silently holding out his hand for the tracking detector and switching it on before moving towards Callen. A faint beeping got louder the closer he came.

Locking his knees to remain standing, Callen held his ground, waiting while Sergey moved around him to pinpoint where the tracking device was located. The signal was strongest at the back of his neck.

It wasn’t the clothes. It couldn’t be the clothes as he had taken those off of a dead guard. Instead it only left one conclusion: he had been _implanted_ with a tracking device. One part of his brain congratulated his nemesis for this canny move, while the rest of him was too busy alternately swearing and screaming in something that might be panic. He reached up and palpated the area, finding the small knot that shouldn’t be there right at his hairline. Fuming, he glanced at Sergey over his shoulder. “Any chance you’d be willing to take care of this?”

Switching off the tracking detector, the Russian walked back in front of him, an eyebrow arching once more. “You want me to cut it out?”

“Can’t exactly go to a hospital and ask them to do it, now can I? And I don’t have any time to lose,” Callen snapped, biting his tongue before he said any more. Keep your temper in cheek. Sergey didn’t like men losing their temper.

There was a strange hesitancy in the other man that surprised Callen. Sergey was not known to hesitate, decisive in his deals and making well educated decisions at the snap of a moment. “Damn it, Sergey. You usually butcher people with that knife of yours. How hard can it be to make an incision and cut something out?” Callen asked incredulously and turned around, turning his back on the other man.

It was somewhat frightening to make himself vulnerable to this man, offer not only his back to him but also ask him to take a knife to his neck. If he was so inclined, Sergey could kill him. Then again, considering what his captor would do to him if he caught up to him, being killed by Sergey would be a mercifully quick death. Remembering the repercussions of his last escape attempt, Callen desperately fought off the flashback that tried to crowd his mind.

“Alright,” the other man said, “let’s get it done.” He pushed Callen over to the desk and into a chair. There was a quiet snick when the knife was unsheathed, making Callen’s pulse jump.

Lowering his head and taking a deep breath, he waited. Despite expecting it, he jumped when Sergey’s hand made contact with the back of his head, pushing him down. Again, he fought against another flashback when he was pinned against the desk, his hands reaching to grip the table. He fought the flashback and the instinct to move and to retaliate to protect himself. He stifled the hiss when the cut was made, biting his lips when he felt warm blood run down the back and side of his neck. It took only a few moments before Sergey located the tracker and several more before he took it out with two more cuts. Putting the tracker next to Callen’s head on the desk, Sergey let go of him and moved away, over to the private bathroom. Water ran in the sink, presumably to rinse the blood off the knife. Callen didn’t move yet, his whole body shaking from adrenaline and the newly inflicted pain. Sergey returned with a towel which he handed Callen who now slowly sat up, still shaking slightly in reaction to the last few minutes. Pressing the towel against the back of his neck, he stared at the tracker.

“You should get rid of it,” Sergey stated mildly, again watching Callen as he stared at the tracker.

He was unnerved by the stare now, but he kept his eyes on the tracking device, his mind working furiously, factoring this into his plans. Shaking his head, a small smile appeared on his face when he made a decision. “No, I’ll use it to lead my hunters away from me.”

The mobster tilted his head to the side. “You want them to chase the tracker while you run somewhere else?”

Callen nodded, taking the towel off to check the bleeding. He pressed the towel against his skin once more after only a moment.

Sergey barked a laugh. “In moments like this, I miss working with you, Andrej. That shall be entertaining to watch. Where will you lead them?”

“I’ll put it on a train to Warsaw,” he returned. The nearest US embassy outside of Russia was in Warsaw, Poland. This was the closest spot of American soil to reach and of course that could be a destination for him to run to. It wasn’t; Callen didn’t trust an embassy to keep him safe against this particular foe, especially not so close to Russia. Maybe in an embassy in Western Europe the chances would be better, but Poland was too close to Russia and in some aspects dependent on the large country. But his captor wouldn’t know his reasoning. It was a plausible move for a desperate agent to seek shelter at the first reachable piece of American soil. The deception could give him a head start.

Sergey reached for the intercom and asked for someone to come inside. Only moments later, a young boy of maybe fourteen entered, keeping his eyes down, his body language submissive and demure. Still, the eyes were sharp when they flicked over to Callen, sharp and intelligent.

Taking a small plastic bag out of the desk, Sergey stood up and collected the tracker, putting it in the bag and handing it over to the boy with instructions to head over to the main train station and put it on a train to Warsaw. The transaction was over even before Callen could interrupt and stop it. The boy was out of the door in moments. “He shouldn’t be doing this. Something could happen to him if they catch him,” Callen said, getting up to follow the boy.

Sergey stepped next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Gregory is one of my best runners. He’s quick at thinking on his feet and he’ll evade anyone.” Squeezing his shoulder once, Sergey stepped away. Just then, the door opened again and a man came in, handing over the passport, several stacks of money and the requested burn phones as well as a set of car keys.

Callen stood still, somewhat surprised by Sergey’s action. He had been stunned by another of his old contacts today. By Sergey taking over and making one of his boys deliver the tracker, Callen’s chances to actually get away rose dramatically. He didn’t know how close his pursuers were, but not having to make a side trip to the train station could only add to his lead.

Taking the passport, cash and phones from Sergey, he put them into the backpack before withdrawing a stack of money in payment. Sergey reached out and stayed his hand, shaking his head, “this one is free of charge; for old time’s sake.”

Making eye contact, Callen gauged his honesty and found no deception. As far as honor went within the mob, Sergey was a man of honor and obviously he still held their old adventures together in high regards. Leaving the cash, withdrawing his hand from the backpack, Callen nodded, reaching out a hand to the other man who shook it. “Give my regards to Svetlana. Until we meet again, Sergey.” Waiting for the answering nod, Callen then turned, following the man waiting for him just outside the opened door.


	4. Chapter 4

Having left Sergey’s headquarters, Callen drove towards the border. Only half an hour later did he pull over. He needed to call Sam and the others, but he hadn’t dared to stop before. Just in case his captor was closer than he anticipated. He hadn’t felt comfortable stopping even for the few minutes it would take to make the call until he was a good distance away from Sergey’s place. Callen was by now unsure why he hadn’t shared some of his plans with Sam and Michelle before. They would already be on the way towards Europe in that case and therefore closer to be able to help him. Shaking his head, he took out one of the phones and dialed the number to Michelle’s phone. Nothing to dwell on now.

Three and a half hours had passed since he had initially called Sam. More time than he had expected. He doubted the delay would go over well with anyone.

The call was answered after only one ring, adding to his suspicion that his team was nervous about why he hadn’t called as planned. “G?” His partner’s voice was frazzled.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest. Just hearing Sam’s voice helped calm some of his nerves. He wasn’t alone in this anymore. “Sorry about the delay. Had to get rid of a tracker first,” he said softly, the back of his neck throbbing as a reminder.

“Where are you now?”

“Half way to the Polish border from Kaliningrad. I’ll hopefully be in Poland in about half an hour,” he replied.

“Callen, Ivan Abramov has been on a conference in Moscow. He left his hotel a few minutes ago. A flight plan for his private jet has just been filed for Warsaw, Poland,” Nell’s voice rang out, the sound of typing could be heard in the background.

He allowed himself a small smile while crossing his fingers. “Hopefully that means he’s reacting to the tracker that is now en route to Warsaw by train,” he told his team mates. Still, having his former captor on the move made his nerves flare.

“What are your plans, Mr. Callen? What do you need us to do?” Hetty asked, her tone of voice neutral, hiding any feeling and emotion. Her focus was on this mission now, on getting things done.

He blinked his eyes open, briefly glancing around the slowly brightening surroundings. Soon, darkness wouldn’t hide him anymore. “I’ll head west by car. I can hold on for a while longer, but backup would be appreciated.”

“We could have already been on the way if you said so before,” Sam muttered darkly. He was still cross with him about the delay. Not unexpected. In fact, it calmed Callen’s nerves to have his partner grouchy about this fact. His partner was predictable… and dependable. He smiled slightly, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Nell, secure a military flight for the team and Mrs. Hanna,” Hetty ordered, ignoring Sam’s outburst.

Callen interrupted forcefully, his head snapping up. “No. Make it a civilian flight to Amsterdam or Frankfurt with a fake connecting flight to Warsaw,” he said, shaking his head, “he now obviously knows I’ve escaped and he will keep an eye out for what you do. The longer he thinks I’m headed to the embassy in Warsaw, the better. If you appear to head there, it will add credence to the theory I’ll head for the embassy. I need to keep his eye away from military bases, so no flying in with a military plane.”

There was a brief sound, contemplation and approval both, from Hetty, “because that’s where you’ll be wanting to go.”

“Ramstein, Germany,” Kensi added as she followed that reasoning.

Callen smiled. His team knew him well and they were experts at strategy. “Yeah, Ramstein. I don’t trust an embassy to keep me safe against him. Ramstein is another thing altogether.” An embassy could be breeched or the bureaucrats probably even convinced, favors could be owed. A whole base full of military personnel not so much. The place called out to Callen’s deep seated need to feel safe, surround himself with unbreakable walls.

“It will add travel time for the team, Mr. Callen. A military flight would be faster,” Hetty cautioned.

“I know, but this feels safer. Get to Amsterdam or Frankfurt, then go east by car. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle.” He could hold out until they came. He could keep ahead of Abramov with a bit of misdirection and skill. At least he hoped so.

“Alright, Mr. Callen. So be it. I want you to call in every hour to the following phone number,” she told him before rattling off a string of numbers that he fought to memorize. It would be an untraceable burn phone of hers. Just as he would be switching phones at his end, Hetty and later the team would do the same at the other end. This further minimized the chances of being traced. No phone to fixate on and locate.

“Tickets to all of you have been issued. Destination: Amsterdam, Netherlands. Your flight leaves in a little over an hour. You better go,” Nell’s voice could be heard in the background.

“Stay safe, G,” Sam’s voice came over the line. Again, his partner’s voice sank into Callen like a safety blanket, providing another moment of reassurance. When the others chimed in with wishes to keep his head up and that they would see him soon, he felt his throat close. Emotion was something he didn’t do, something that had no place right now, but at the same time he needed this, needed to know that he could count on the team that he had shaped and that he would soon have their help. His strength was limited and taxed.

“Every hour, Mr. Callen,” Hetty reminded him, snapping him out of his reverie. He could hear the team move in the background before he disconnected with a murmur of assent.

Taking a moment to calm down, take several deep breaths - as deep as his ribs allowed at least - he restarted the car. His job now was get across the border and into Poland.

Xxxxxxx

Hetty watched the team carefully. Sam and Michelle had briefed them on what little they knew once they had arrived and the team had set up. Hearing that Mr. Callen had made contact had given her hope, despite Sam’s description of the phone call and what he had heard in his partner’s voice. The fact that he was alive and had escaped had to be enough for now. They would assess his injuries and emotional state later. As long as he could keep going and made rational decisions, Hetty would focus on getting things done on their end.

Eric and Nell had set up their systems in her dining room and were typing away, gathering Intel, setting up alerts and making connections, probably also hacking one or the other system they needed. They had briefed them on Ivan Abramov, had found a connection to Callen from years and years ago while the team leader had worked for the CIA: a long-term deep cover mission with enough black paint in the report that they could barely get the gist of things. Abramov’s family had been killed in the mission, making this obviously a personal vendetta. And once again, Callen’s past reared its ugly head. Then again, if you were successful in their line of business, you raked up an impressive amount of enemies over the years. God knew that Hetty had her own fair share of them.

Kensi and Deeks were alternately pacing, talking to each other or the techs. Both were vibrating with energy, their expressions giving away the need to do something and the hope that they could return the missing agent to the family.

Sam, too, was pacing, getting more frazzled the longer the silence reined. Mr. Callen was past his expected call-in time which did worry everyone in the room. Still, Hetty knew her agent was resourceful and she had to give him the benefit of doubt before they started to set things in motion. Worst case, she would make trouble for him with a rash decision to stage a rescue.

“Hetty,” Nell called, making the older woman look over to her. Once she had Hetty’s attention, she went on, “Abramov checked out of the hotel.” Hetty glanced at the clock, briefly making calculations in her head. It was shortly after 5 o’clock in the morning in Moscow. Too early for a planned departure. That probably meant that Mr. Callen’s escape had been noticed.

“The pilots just filed a flight plan for Warsaw, Poland,” Eric chimed in, his eyes remaining on the monitor in front of him, his fingers pausing briefly on the keyboard while he took in what he was seeing. “Departure scheduled for 6 o’clock.”

Poland was where she suspected Mr. Callen would go, though she wasn’t quite sure about Warsaw. It didn’t feel right, even if there was a US embassy in Warsaw which would be the closest safe place that he could reach from Kaliningrad. Knowing Callen as she did, she somehow doubted that he would head to an embassy this close to Russia though; maybe one in Western Europe, but probably not in Poland, a country with close ties to Russia.

“Damn it, they found him. We have to move,” Sam exploded, nervous energy pouring off of him.

Hetty turned towards the senior agent. “Calm yourself, Mr. Hanna. We don’t know that yet. Let’s give your partner a little longer before we make assumptions. He asked us to wait for him to check in again. We’ll honor his wishes.”

“But, Hetty,” Sam started, only to be interrupted by Michelle’s phone chiming on the table. Everyone’s eyes fell to the device and silence descended while Sam activated the connection and put the call on loudspeaker. “G?”

There was a brief delay before the tinny sound sharpened and Callen’s voice came over the line. “Sorry about the delay. Had to get rid of a tracker first,” the words were spoken softly and everyone could hear the exhaustion in it. Hetty focused most of her attention on the phone call, while still cataloguing the reactions of her team. She needed to be able to gauge their state of minds for this to be successful.

“Where are you now?” Sam asked his partner, glancing around the table at his team mates.

“Half way to the Polish border from Kaliningrad. I’ll hopefully be in Poland in about half an hour.”Again, exhaustion was clearly present in the words, but there was also a reassuring tone of determination in the voice of their missing team leader. The desperation Sam had told her about was missing. Hetty nodded to herself. He may be wounded and alone, but he was not defenseless.

“Callen, Ivan Abramov has been on a conference in Moscow. He left his hotel a few minutes ago. A flight plan for his private jet has just been filed for Warsaw, Poland,” Nell told the man on the phone, making Hetty smile. It was Nell’s job to analyze and give the required Intel to the team. And Nell Jones was very good at her job. This information would be necessary for Callen.

“Hopefully that means he’s reacting to the tracker that is now en route to Warsaw by train,” Callen replied. Some stress fell off at those words. At least he wasn’t immediately pursued, but had a contingency plan that seemed to be working. Again, Hetty nodded to herself. He was still very much in control of his actions, not running blindly, but instead planning ahead. Their chances to get him out of this mess were improving.

While she felt he was right now far from emotionally compromised as Sam’s description had suggested, she also knew that he was good at hiding behind smokescreens. Therefore she made certain her tone of voice was level. “What are your plans, Mr. Callen? What do you need us to do?”

“I’ll head west by car. I can hold on for a while longer, but backup would be appreciated.”

Hetty’s eyes narrowed. While the words were spoken in a level headed voice, the admission of needing help was the first sign she had seen of the desperate man Sam had heard before. She looked over sharply when Sam admonished his partner about not sharing before and therefore delaying the arrival of backup. It wouldn’t do for Sam to trigger an emotional response in Callen. Still, now was not the time to take Sam to the task for that. She needed to keep the phone call focused and for them to start moving. “Nell, secure a military flight for the team and Mrs. Hanna,” Hetty ordered the young analyst, barely glancing up. A military flight would have them in Europe quickly. The downside was that Abramov would probably notice if he indeed have the resources or the inside information that Callen claimed him to have.

While she was still contemplating the next steps, Callen spoke up again, issuing a counter order. “No. Make it a civilian flight to Amsterdam or Frankfurt with a fake connecting flight to Warsaw. He now obviously knows I’ve escaped and he will keep an eye out for what you do. The longer he thinks I’m headed to the embassy in Warsaw, the better. If you appear to head there, it will add credence to the theory I’ll head for the embassy. I need to keep his eye away from military bases, so no flying in with a military plane.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips at those words. Smokescreens indeed. Callen was using every bit of skill he had learned during his long career in the various alphabet agencies of the United States. Her clever boy, making sure that Abramov’s focus would be off the military, “because that’s where you’ll want to go.”

On the other side of the table, Kensi nodded, “Ramstein, Germany.”

The conclusion was most certainly right and Hetty waited for him to confirm it, which he did a moment later. “Yeah, Ramstein. I don’t trust an embassy to keep me safe against him. Ramstein is another thing altogether.” The reasoning was good, though at the same time worrying. Implying that Abramov could get to him on the soil of an US embassy was worrying indeed. It might just be Callen’s natural tendency to cautiousness, but Hetty was willing to follow his reasoning considering he had been taken ten months ago and only now managed to get away. Callen was an experienced agent who had lived through captivity and torture before. Abramov’s hold on him had to have been solid and unrelenting, or he would have gotten out before. She could understand that he would only feel safe when surrounded by military personnel instead of bureaucrats. Still… “It will add travel time for the team, Mr. Callen. A military flight would be faster,” Hetty cautioned. She wasn’t quite sure how quickly he required backup, how long he could keep himself going before even his considerable reserves were stretched beyond the limit.

“I know, but this feels safer,” he replied, unintentionally agreeing with her suspicion of his need to feel safe in a military base. “Get to Amsterdam or Frankfurt, then go east by car. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”

“Alright, Mr. Callen. So be it,” Hetty agreed, giving Nell a nod. The analyst turned to her monitors and immediately started typing, making the necessary travel arrangements. Hetty refocused her attention to the phone call. “I want you to call in every hour to the following phone number,” she told him firmly before relaying the number. Making sure that no one would be able to pin him down by tracing calls or locating his position by finding the phone was her top priority. They would cycle through several phones over the duration of his escape. She hoped he had access to different phones as well, but even if not, as long as they rotated phones on this end, it would help him immensely to stay undetected.

When Nell announced that she had booked their flights, the team straightened and started gathering the previously prepared bags.

Sam was only the first to address his partner again, uttering a soft “Stay safe, G,” before he headed towards the door, the team following the senior agent, all of them adding a few words for their missing team mate.

She watched them leave, again taking in their postures. They were professionals, but the last months had taxed this team, their leader missing, an integral piece of them just gone without a trace. Getting Mr. Callen back home would only be one part of healing these people.

The next few hours in transit would be hell for them, Hetty knew. They were all people of action. Sitting around in a plane would grate on them. Returning her gaze to the phone, she reminded her agent, “every hour, Mr. Callen.”

He murmured something intelligible before hanging up. Hetty straightened and turned away from the table, ignoring her techs while she replayed the phone call in her head and made sure her expression wouldn’t give anything away.


	5. Chapter 5

The border control had come and gone. Luckily there had been no trouble. The timing had been perfect. It had been shortly after six in the morning and there had been enough early business traffic to make the guards less attentive. He had managed to blend in well enough, despite sporting some small facial injuries. The majority of his injuries were hidden by clothes.

The first hour or so after crossing the border, he had remained on high alert. There weren’t all that many routes out of Kaliningrad and the first leg of his travel through Poland didn’t offer many alternate roads if he wanted to cover a good distance and put space between himself and possible pursuers. Only when the autostradas - the Polish version of a highway - forked into different directions, he began to relax a little bit. From here on out, it would be way harder for Abramov to single out a specific stretch of road where to expect him. The options where he could be had multiplied. He guessed that the rouse with the tracker heading towards Warsaw by train would have helped him slip through the cracks and kept the attention away from the border control point he had used therefore giving him a much needed head start.

Having a passport that held no connections to NCIS or any other US agency would have helped as well. Abramov might have insider information or even be able to get into their systems but the passport Callen had used would have no connection to them and therefore couldn’t have been flagged by his captor. His long service in various alphabet agencies had taught him to always have contingency plans and he had therefore acquired black-market passports for a long while. They were stashed in different hiding places all over the world where he had worked before. Originally, they had been stashed there during a mission to keep himself safe in case his cover was burned and he needed to get out of a country undetected, but he had often left them in their hiding places after his job had been done and he had gone home. He was very glad for that now, though he probably could have acquired a passport from Sergey without much trouble.

True to Hetty’s demand, he had called in every hour, resting for those minutes before continuing on. In his head, several clocks were ticking. One was counting how long he had been on the run, one with an estimation of how long until he reached certain milestones on the way to his destination, one with how long until the team arrived in Europe and one with an estimate how long it would take before Abramov detected his ruse with the embassy in Warsaw and started moving again. That last one was about to run out soon in his estimation.

Callen blinked his eyes slowly, trying to refocus on the street. He was getting road-blindness, mindlessly driving westwards with nothing but his own thoughts for company. That, on top of the adrenaline draining from his system, was leaving him beyond exhausted. It was nearing the twelve hour mark since his escape from Abramov’s mansion and he had been on the move and on high alert nearly all the time since then. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep himself going much longer considering his physical state, expected Hetty to tell him the same during the next phone call. She would have heard the weariness, the exhaustion and - knowing the old spy - also the pain he tried to hide.

The pain was getting worse now due to sitting cramped for a long time in the car and due to the adrenaline ebbing away, taking with it the numbing effects and making his injuries cry for attention. His left shoulder was sending dull throbs of pain to his brain. Having been dislocated several times during his captivity, the tissue and ligaments were aggravated. Keeping his forearm against his chest to immobilize the shoulder helped somewhat, but it didn’t make the pain go away completely. His left knee had locked up and Callen knew that shifting gears the next time would most certainly draw a sound of pain. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with the knee, but having taken a kick to it several weeks earlier had probably injured a ligament or two. Some of his ribs were cracked or possibly broken and breathing hurt. That particular pain was getting worse the longer he sat in the car. The sometimes less than stellar road conditions didn’t help. He was often bumped around and jostled slightly and every time, his ribs complained. The welts on his back from his last encounter with a whip also twanged in discomfort when he moved his upper body… and also when he didn’t. Leaning back into the seat wasn’t comfortable at all. The knife wound at the back of his neck from where Sergey had taken out the tracking device throbbed fiercely every now and then, even though it had long since stopped bleeding. All of the other superficial wounds, cuts, scrapes and bruises didn’t exactly help his overall condition.

Taking the next exit, allowing the pained gasp to escape his lips when he shifted gears and his knee complained as expected, he found a place to stop. Callen parked the car and sighed softly, his eyes closing momentarily. Rubbing a hand over his face, he opened the door and forced himself to get out, his vision clouding with spots when his body complained. He definitely needed to rest soon but wasn’t exactly sure if he could bring himself to relax enough to do so.

He took out one of the phones and called the latest number Hetty had given him an hour ago, the third one. The fact that he had trouble memorizing the numbers only confirmed his muddled state. Carefully leaning against the car, he waited for the call to connect, allowing his eyes to close once more.

“Mr. Callen,” Hetty’s voice came on the line as soon as the connection was established.

“Hey, Hetty,” he murmured. There was a brief pause and he knew Hetty was analyzing him, making up her mind about how to continue. He was pretty sure that only those two words he had spoken were enough for her to run a full analysis on him.

“Are you on schedule?” she asked calmly.

Breathing slowly and trying to push the pain away, he nodded, even though she wouldn’t see, “yeah. Just past Posen, as expected. No delays so far.”

“Alright, in that case I want you to stop and take a break. Not just five minutes. At least two hours, Mr. Callen. You need to rest. It wouldn’t serve a purpose if you were in an accident and injured yourself any further.” And there it was, just as he had expected. It seemed he still knew the old spy, his mentor, the only mother figure in his life.

“Hetty,” he hedged, only to be interrupted.

“No ‘buts’, Mr. Callen. You’ve been on the run for close to twelve hours by my calculations. You’re running on fumes and I guess the adrenaline will have mostly left your system by now. You’re hurting,” her voice was firm, demanding.

“Yeah, I know. Not sure if I can stop though,” he admitted, “I don’t know how close he is.”

“His private plane is still in Warsaw,” Nell chimed in, “we managed to follow him on the CCTVs from the airstrip into the city. He has four men with him and they are placed strategically around the embassy, probably waiting to herd you off. Two more of his men have headed towards the train station, but we’ve lost them in the crowds.”

So there were six men with Abramov in Warsaw, waiting to drag him back into the house of horror. Callen turned his head to glance at the clock inside the car. “The ruse will not last much longer. The tracker was placed on a train and that train would have arrived an hour or so ago. If he still has eyes on the tracker he will soon start to wonder why it’s not moving out of the train station.”

“Even so, he will not have any direction to go to for the moment. The fact that he holds firm around the embassy suggests that he thinks you might have ditched the tracker but decided to push on towards the embassy anyhow,” Hetty said.

Callen scoffed, “it wasn’t as easy as ‘ditching’ the tracker, Hetty. I’ve had it cut out of the back of my neck and it is doubtful I would have been able to do this on my own. Not to mention finding it in the first place. He will know that.”

He heard the startled gasps from both Nell and Eric upon that little detail he had left out of his storytelling so far. Hetty didn’t react; not that he had expected her to do so.

“Still, he wouldn’t know where to find you, Mr. Callen. He is currently hours away from you in Warsaw. We are monitoring him and will alert you if necessary. You need to rest!” the demand was firmer now, closer to an order than before. “Get off the autostrada and find a secluded place. I don’t suggest you find a motel, but at least try to sleep in the car for a little while.”

He closed his eyes and focused on what his body was demanding from him. “You’ll call if he moves?” he asked, hating how his voice shifted to hesitant, small and hopeful at the same time.

There was a momentary pause before Hetty answered. “We’ll alert you, Grisha,” she stated softly, her voice gentle.

Callen opened his eyes and shook his head, “don’t, Hetty. I need your professional guidance now. I can’t…” he broke off. He couldn‘t allow himself to be emotional, couldn’t lower his defenses or he feared he wouldn’t be able to keep going. Hetty calling him by his first name in that tone of voice had the power to unhinge him completely.

“I understand, Mr. Callen. In that case, my professional guidance to you is for you to get some rest,” the old spy told him firmly, her voice shifting back to professional, making it an order she expected to be followed.

His eyes fell closed once more on their own account. He knew Hetty was right, hell, he had contemplated resting himself. “Alright,” he whispered.

“Good. Two hours minimum, Mr. Callen. More if possible. We’ll notify you if necessary,” Hetty reminded him before cutting the connection.

Letting the phone sink to his side, Callen sighed. She was right and he trusted Hetty, trusted his team. They would monitor Abramov and watch out for him. Pushing away from the car slowly, he straightened carefully, hissing when the wounds on his back tightened in response. His knee was killing him too, but he carefully took some more steps to try and loosen it somewhat before returning to the car.

He started driving again, away from the autostrada and into the countryside, finding a more secluded spot to stop and rest. Mere fifteen minutes after finishing his phone call to Hetty, he parked the car. He pushed the driver’s seat all the way back, stretching out his legs and swallowing the moan of pain that shot through. Tilting the seat as far back as possible, he closed his eyes, hoping he would be able to get some rest. In his mind, he repeated the words to himself that his team was watching over him from afar, a silent mantra to keep the panic that wanted to invade at bay.

Xxxxxxx

Hetty sighed when she hung up on her agent. He sounded bad, his condition had been worsening with each phone call. She knew it was the right thing to do to order him to stand down. The biggest concern was that she thought he would actually do as she asked. And that in itself was a testament to how dire the situation was and how bad his physical state must be.

Aside of that little fact with having removed an implanted tracking device, he had been tightlipped about his injuries. The only thing he had told her during another phone call was that he didn’t need immediate medical attention… and he had only given her that much because she had forced his answer to make sure he wasn’t bleeding out in his car. It was something he was used to doing - ignoring his injuries and downright pretending he was alright, hiding behind a façade - but she suspected that he didn’t dare open up about his injuries now because he simply couldn’t acknowledge them to himself or he wouldn’t be able to go on.

If the use of his given name, a gentle show of care and affection, threatened to bring his walls crashing down right now, he was in a sorry state.

“How long until the team arrives in Amsterdam?” Hetty asked the two techs stationed behind her without turning to them.

She felt Eric and Nell sharing a glance behind her back before Eric spoke up, his voice quiet, “about 6 hours.”

Hetty nodded, still not turning towards them. Straightening, she ran a hand down her face before striding out of the room. She needed some tea to calm herself and to consider the situation in private.

“Hetty?” Nell called after her.

“Monitor the situation and alert me if anything changes,” she ordered calmly, giving both young techs a glance over her shoulder as she stopped in the doorframe. “Do not call him unless I say so.” While Callen had asked if they would call him in case Abramov moved, Hetty had no intention to do so unless Abramov moved into a specific direction and came close to where her agent was. “Oh, and take alternating breaks during the night. I want one of you glued to those monitors while the other rests.”

It may be mid morning in Europe, but night was falling in LA. She needed the techs to be alert if anything happened and they too had been up and about, gathering Intel and doing as she had asked them to do for several long hours now.

Xxxxxxx

Callen woke up disoriented, startling and surging upwards with a gasp of pain and fright both. He was still in the car, still parked by the roadside in some remote area in Poland. There was nothing but trees around him. Taking a deliberately slow breath, he closed his eyes and waited for his heart to stop racing and for the nightmarish memories to fade.

Only when he had his heart rate back under control, he blinked his eyes open once more and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. He drew in a somewhat shocked breath; he had been parked here for over four hours. He slowly shook his head and then got out of the car, stumbling away and relieving himself. He would need to get going, but he needed another moment to get his bearings.

The first hour or so of his Hetty-enforced break had been restless, nightmares and flashbacks chasing each other and leaving him more drained than before. Only afterwards he must have sunken into a deeper sleep, the level of exhaustion obviously enough to drag him under.

He actually felt a little better. His physical aches were still prominent, but his mind at least felt clearer, which in turn would help him to compartmentalize the pain better.

Returning to the car, he reached for the cell phones. No calls missed. He frowned. Abramov couldn’t still be in Warsaw, now could he? The man was smart. He would know by now that Callen had played him with the tracker. He wouldn’t remain idle.

Dialing, he waited for the call to connect him to Hetty and the techs. Glancing at the clock again, he reckoned that the team would be a little over an hour away from Amsterdam. Knowing they would be on European ground soon - and therefore closer to him than they had been in a long time - gave him hope that he would make the meet.

“Mr. Callen. I trust you’ve slept,“ Hetty’s voice greeted him. He could hear the small smile in the words, the relief too.

He didn’t deign answering since it wasn’t a question but a statement. Hetty knew that he would have called earlier if he hadn’t slept. She had asked for two hours and the fact that he only called in after more than four would speak for itself. She had probably expected to be called earlier. “Where’s Abramov?” he asked instead, needing that information so he could decide what to do.

“He’s about to land in Berlin, Germany,” Hetty told him. “We’ve changed the fake connecting flights of the team to Berlin to draw Abramov’s focus that way.”

That was probably a good call. Since he would have known that Callen was not coming to Warsaw, Abramov would have focused on the movements of the team so that he could try to snatch him up that way. There was a US embassy in Berlin as well, which of course could also be a place of interest. The only problem was that Callen was indeed moving towards Berlin by car. Even though he hadn’t planned on entering the city of Berlin, he had planned to cross into Germany via the main highway that ran past the south of the city. He wondered whether Abramov would lay in wait in Berlin or whether he would try to find him on the motorway, if that would even be possible.

“I’d advise you to turn south, towards Cottbus instead. There’s no direct route on an autostrada from where you are now, therefore adding some time to your travel, but that way you will not head straight towards Berlin. I guess it might feel safer to you,” Hetty suggested. Canny old woman, knowing what he was wondering about. Then again, he had learned a lot of his skills from her. A small smile tugged at his lips.

“The team?” he asked.

“One hour and fifteen minutes from Amsterdam. They will get a car at the airport, using one of the fake passports they took with them - not NCIS associated. That way they should remain undetected for long enough to slip by Abramov and meet up with you,” Eric reported.

He was glad to hear that they too took precautions. They did have his back and tried everything they could to help in whatever way they could. “Thanks, guys,” Callen said softly.

“Anytime,” Eric replied, his tone of voice similarly gentle to Callen’s, “I mean, not that I want a repeat of this. Just, I mean, you know…”

Eric fumbling for proper words was just so ‘normal’, something that he had witnessed often before, that Callen barked a short laugh. “I understand, Eric,” he assured the other man, before sobering once more. “Every hour again, Hetty?” he asked, knowing his mentor was still around and listening closely, probably analyzing what he said and how he said it to get a better read on him. For the moment, he didn’t quite mind being unable to hide from her. For some reason it helped share the burden he currently lugged around on his shoulders.

“Every hour, Mr. Callen,” Hetty affirmed and he nodded to himself before hanging up on them. It was time to get going and head south west now instead of straight westwards.

Xxxxxxx

The last hours in transit had been stressful. Being unable to do anything on top of not knowing the state his partner was in or even if he was still ahead of Abramov was grating on Sam’s nerves.

He knew that Kensi and Deeks both had backed off and didn’t further try to approach him, having been snapped at a few times too many. Only his wife was resilient enough. She knew his moods well, knew when to push and when to leave him alone. She had sat next to him during the flight, her presence stoic and strong.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when they entered the terminal. Hopefully passport control wouldn’t take too long now.

Kensi and Deeks led the way while Sam powered up his burn phone to call Hetty and the techs. They needed new information, needed to know how the board stood now and where to go.

“Hey Sam,” Eric’s voice came over the line.

“Give me an update, Eric,” Sam asked. He kept himself from snapping, still, his voice was firm, leaving no room for discussion. Not that Eric would argue about this.

“Callen called in ten minutes ago. He just crossed into Germany. We changed his route slightly southbound. He’s now headed towards Cottbus and then Dresden instead of going in via Berlin. We need you guys to head into roughly that direction as well. By my calculations you should meet up somewhere pretty much in the middle of Germany. I’ll send you some GPS coordinates to start with. We’ll fine-tune that as we go and guide you to a meeting place.”

Sam felt some of his worries dissipate. At least G was still free and ahead of his captors. “How is he doing?”

“Mr. Callen is holding his own,” Hetty answered instead of Eric. “He rested for some hours.”

That was good. Callen needed to stay sharp and Sam knew his partner, knew he was hurting and somewhat desperate. The fact that he had slept either testified just how bad his state was or that he felt safer than Sam expected… so probably the first then. “How long until we meet up with him?”

“Depends on how long until you get out of the airport and whether or not you have traffic on the way. Rush hour should be ending soon. By our calculations it will probably be an hour before midnight or so that you make the meet,” Eric replied. Sam checked the nearest watch on display. Close to six more hours then. He could work with that.

“What about Abramov?”

“He’s currently lying in wait in Berlin, seeing that we changed your fake connecting flights to that destination. It seems that he has nothing to go on but your movements, so it’s time for you to disappear from the radar.”

Sam was glad for the Intel that Eric provided. It relaxed him somewhat to know that while Abramov might be in Germany, he obviously didn’t know where to find Callen. “We should be through passport control in a few minutes and get a car soon.”

“From now on, I want you to call in every hour as well, just as Mr. Callen does. We need to coordinate your movements to guide you to a meeting place,” Hetty requested.

“Alright, we’ll call in an hour,” Sam agreed and then hung up. Passport control was coming up. Time to get this show on the road.


	6. Chapter 6

He had taken another break, rested for another half hour. His energy was waning quickly though, his energy stores completely depleted. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. His body was betraying him - then again, possibly not. It had held on for this long after all, much longer than it probably should have considering everything. Still…

By his last call-in, Abramov was still in Berlin, though Nell couldn’t be completely sure of it. They didn’t have eyes on him. No flight had gone out though and neither had they found a car with him leaving the city. Considering that they didn’t have full access to the German traffic cameras but just what their hacking skills allowed - which admittedly was quite a lot - Abramov might have slipped past them though.

Still, by now Callen felt reasonably certain that his captor wouldn’t turn up behind him as soon as he stopped the car.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Callen shook his head. He had to stop. His reaction time was slowing down, his vision was blurring. If he killed himself in an accident now, Hetty and Sam both would probably resurrect him only to kill him themselves. Making a decision, Callen took the next exit and left the highway, taking some random turns while still cataloguing them in his mind. This was a rural area as far as he could discern in the darkness that had fallen in the last hour. Finding a small parking lot by a forest, presumably the start of some hiking trails, he killed the engine and closed his eyes.

He was done. He couldn’t carry on any longer. Their planned meeting place was some 60 klicks further westwards, but Callen was simply too exhausted to keep going.

Picking up the phone, he called in. He was ahead of his call-schedule by some twenty minutes.

“Mr. Callen?” Hetty asked, worry clouding her voice.

“I need to stop, Hetty,” he murmured, “I can’t go any further.” Shame washed through him at his admission. So far, in his entire career he had never before admitted defeat, had never failed to achieve his objective. This, now, felt like failing.

“You held on longer than was probably healthy,” Hetty soothed him. He never knew how she did it, but she cut straight to the heart of his worries, knew what he was feeling often even before he could put a name to it.

“Still, I should have…” he started, only to be interrupted by her.

“You’ve done exactly as I would have wanted. You’ve protected yourself well, you’ve gotten yourself this far. The team is on its way. They will be with you soon. Give me your position so that we can plot a new route for them and give you an estimation of when to expect them.”

Callen closed his eyes and told her where he had left the highway and which turns he had taken. Having no GPS was a disadvantage in this moment, but his team would still be able to find him from that description. He felt himself fading slowly, sinking into the exhaustion now that he didn’t have to pay attention to make sure he didn’t crash the car. He didn’t think he would lose consciousness, but his body was demanding him to stop and rest.

“Alright, I’ve pinned your position. This will add about half an hour to the team’s travel time. They should arrive shortly before midnight,” Nell spoke up, the tapping of keys fading in the background. “We’ll call them and tell them about the change of plans.”

“Rest, Mr. Callen. Wait for the team. They’ll have your back soon,” Hetty said gently. There was a different kind of worry in her voice now, not the immediate worry he had heard at the beginning of their call, but more the motherly kind of worry.

“Ok,” he muttered before hanging up.

Getting out of the car, Callen walked a few steps, trying to remain alert while at the same time trying to keep his body functioning. He felt horrible, pain again crowding the forefront of his mind. It would get better with rest, with knowing he could trust someone else to watch his back for a while, but right this moment, he felt each and every injury committed against his body.

Xxxxxxx

None of them had liked what Hetty had told them during their last phone call: Callen couldn’t go on. The fact that his seemingly invincible partner admitted to having to stop… Sam worried what they would find once they reached him.

They would know in a few minutes. Deeks carefully maneuvered the van off the highway, following the GPS’s directions to the small hiking parking lot that Callen had said he’d gone to. Hopefully they had gotten it right and Callen had relayed the right directions. Otherwise this would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“There it is,” Kensi pointed to the right and Deeks left the street, rolling onto the packed earth of the parking lot.

“Anyone got eyes on him?” Michelle asked from behind.

His eyes swept over the parking space. There was only one car parked, the Russian plates suggesting it was indeed the car that Callen would have driven, but the driver’s seat was empty when Deeks rolled up beside it. “Yeah, I see him,” Sam stated softly when his eyes fell on the figure of a man sitting on a boulder at the edge of the parking space, barely visible in the darkness of the night, right at the edge of their car’s headlights. He opened his door. “Let me go first,” he told the others, not waiting for a reply as he got out of the car.

He walked slowly over to where he had seen Callen. The man sat with his head bowed, his hands crossed at the back of his head, the posture hunched. Sam actually couldn’t even be positive that it was indeed his partner. The body language was different to what he was used to. The figure sat still, but Sam got the feeling he would be rocking forward and backward if he could.

“G?” he asked softly as he approached, announcing his arrival to the other man who seemed oblivious to his presence. The man’s head snapped up and Sam got his first glance at the other man’s face. It was undeniably Callen, but his appearance did nothing to reassure Sam. His partner looked gaunt, complete and utter exhaustion in his expression, his eyes dull even in the darkness around them.

Callen slowly levered himself up and off the boulder, seemingly needing a moment to steady himself.

Sam waited patiently, instinct telling him that crowding his partner now would not go over well. Only after Callen had stepped forward and had come to a stop in front of him, did Sam move. Opening his arms, he drew G towards him. “Hey, partner,” he whispered when Callen relaxed into his careful hold for a few moments, a huff of an exhale brushing against the skin on Sam’s neck. The hug only lasted moments before Callen tensed and withdrew. There was something skittish about his partner, a restlessness and nervousness Sam had never before seen in him. “Come on. Time to get you away from here.”

Xxxxxxx

He had sunken deeply into himself. Some part of his brain admonished him for it, knowing it would impede on his readiness to react in case he was threatened. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to act differently. Exhaustion had sunken deeply into his bones, dragging him to the ground. He was done, just done. His body was simply too exhausted for him to fight to remain alert.

Even the cool night air did nothing to help keep his senses sharp.

Pain and nausea rolled through him in alternating waves and Callen fought to distance himself from both, still fighting his body’s demand for rest and time to heal.

Sunken so deeply into himself, he didn’t hear the car roll onto the parking lot, also didn’t hear the approach of a person. Only when his name was called softly, he jerked up, uncurling himself and gathering whatever energy he still had to ready himself for a fight.

The person standing a couple of feet away from him didn’t require him to fight though. Sam. His partner. His brother. They were here. He wasn’t alone anymore. The knowledge instantly sapped what little of his energy had remained, the brief surge of adrenaline at being startled ebbing away as well and leaving him completely empty.

He needed a moment to get up and steady himself, his knee protesting most upon being forced to take his weight again.

Slowly moving towards Sam, Callen came to a stop in front of his partner. When the other man carefully drew him into a hug, he closed his eyes. He fell into his partner’s embrace for a few precious seconds, relaxing momentarily before the skittishness returned and with it a strong touch-aversion.

Sam, ever attuned to him, immediately let him go. “Come on. Time to get you away from here,” he stated softly, his voice rolling over Callen, soothing him.

Stepping away from Callen, Sam turned towards where a van stood next to the car Callen had driven in. Moving to follow his partner, his knee buckled and Callen would have crashed to the ground if Sam hadn’t intercepted and stabilized him. Still, that quick and unexpected move pulled at wounds both physical and psychological and Callen recoiled sharply from his partner, stumbling away but somehow remaining on his feet.

Sam watched him, briefly wide eyed, before he carefully schooled his expression. Callen was glad that Sam didn’t ask questions; he silently followed when Sam once more turned towards the cars. This time, he didn’t stumble. His knee was still sending sharp shards of pain through him but it was obeying his commands.

“Grab the backpack from the car?” he asked quietly Sam when they stood between the two cars.

The side door to the van opened. “Hey Callen,” Kensi greeted him cautiously, making no move to get out of the car yet. Michelle on the other side also merely watched him, a gentle and welcoming smile on her lips. Deeks leaned back between the front row seats and offered a quick “hello”. It seemed that everyone had seen his little stunt with Sam. Hesitancy on how to approach him was rolling off of everyone.

“Hey,” he muttered back, making brief eye contact with everyone.

“Get in the van, the back row is free. You can lie down and get some shut-eye,” Sam told him, stepping up behind him but keeping a careful distance between them.

Callen glanced at him over his shoulder before nodding. Everything was starting to seem distant and his thoughts were muddling again.

Kensi stepped out of the vehicle so he could climb in, carefully sliding around him with just a very brief but deliberate touch of her hand against his upper arm.

Glancing at the step he would have to make to get up into the vehicle, Callen grunted and stretched out his right hand to Michelle who sat on the other side of the aisle. “Some help?” he asked.

A small smile flitted over Michelle’s face when she reached out and carefully grasped Callen’s hand to help him inside. “Anytime,” she told him when he was inside the vehicle.

He sent her a grateful look, both at the deeper meaning of the words and physical help. Moving past her and into the back row, he sat down. The seats were reasonably comfortable, but lying down in this cramped a position, having to draw up his legs, wouldn’t go down well for him. Instead, he buckled up and carefully leaned his weight into the vehicle’s side, away from his back. His ribs twanged at the position, but he once more ignored the discomfort.

“Kensi, swap with Deeks. You’re driving,” Sam directed when he climbed into the vehicle, taking the seat on the other side of the aisle from his wife. He turned and glanced over his shoulder at Callen. “G, lie down,” he said firmly.

“I’m good,” Callen muttered, his eyes closing, his head resting against the window.

“G,” Sam said, his tone of voice containing warning and exasperation both.

“Leave it, Sam. Lying down will not help,” he told his partner without opening his eyes. There was a brief pause, a rustle of movement where Callen suspected Michelle reaching over to placate Sam, before Sam sighed and backed down.

“Alright, let’s go, Kens.”

Xxxxxxx

Callen startled out of the doze he had fallen into when the engine shut off. Fighting to orient himself, he glanced around. They were parked in a small lot, in front of a house. The others released their seatbelts and doors were opened.

“What…?” he questioned, still feeling out of sorts, his thought process still slow and stilted.

“Place to stay for the night,” Michelle told him gently.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the fuzziness. “We should keep going,” he argued.

Sam stuck his head back into the car. “You need to rest and we need to check you over. We are in no immediate danger. It’s in the middle of the night. This place has been rented via different channels and internet payment. No one will be able to connect this rental with us. Eric and Nell made sure of it.”

Callen felt himself blinking owlishly. On the one hand he was glad that the others had taken over from him now, that he didn’t have to make any more decisions to try and keep himself safe in his current state, on the other hand, he didn’t want to stop until he was in Ramstein, safe on a military base. Then again, he had three highly capable special agents and an equally capable detective protecting his back. They had one thing that the whole of Ramstein wouldn’t have… personal investment. They would keep him safe.

“Come on, G,” Sam said gently after a few silent moments while he digested the info.

Unbuckling his seat belt, Callen struggled to get off the backseat and out of the car. Sam remained at the door, waiting to help Callen down if required. He reached out and stabilized himself on Sam’s shoulder, initiating the contact instead of having Sam reach for him. Callen tried to swallow the whimper and squeezed his eyes closed when he stepped out of the car and his knee protested. He was glad that Sam kept quiet.

Lights had been turned on inside the house by now. Only Sam and Callen were still outside and Sam remained a steady presence at Callen’s side while they made their way inside.

Deeks looked up from the kitchen counter when they made their way inside. “I’ve put some of my clothes for you in the bathroom. Get cleaned up,” he told him.

Callen didn’t have it in him to protest. He really wanted to get out of the clothes he had taken off a dead guard’s body a little more than 24 hours prior. Deeks’ clothes should be a close enough fit for him, though Callen somehow suspected that they too would hang on him. It didn’t matter though as long as it was a different set of cloths from the one he currently wore. He turned to the corridor, following it towards the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Leaning against the sink, he closed his eyes and let his head hang down. Again, exhaustion tore at him, added to that the feeling of being safe and protected by his team, it was a struggle to get himself moving again. Pushing away from the sink, he took several slow breaths before he started undressing, biting back sounds of pain.

He ignored the wounds that were revealed, wounds that would mark his body beyond the time it took for them to heal. Resolutely turning away from the mirror, he got into the shower stall and stepped into the stream of warm water, willing for it to soothe his aches and take the pain away. He wished it would take the memories as well.

Xxxxxxx

Sam watched his partner drag himself down the hallway. He listened to the sound of the door closing before he turned towards the rest of the team. They all shared another worried glance among each other - they had already shared a few of those in the car. This version of Callen was hard to take. In the light of the rental house they were in, he looked even worse than he had in the semi darkness of the car. He had lost a considerable amount of weight; his bearing seemed smaller, bowed. His expression was distant, withdrawn and missing all sparks of life. Pain was blatantly visible in his eyes and the lines of his face. Sam wondered what injuries were hidden under the clothes that hung on his partner’s frame.

Shaking his head, he took control of the situation. “Michelle and I will take first watch,” he decided. “Deeks and Kensi get some rest. You’ve been driving the most.”

“You’ll probably need some help to get Callen to agree being checked over,” Michelle said calmly, sharing a small smile with her husband. They both had some experience with the stubborn agent and his way of dealing with injuries. Callen had spent enough recovery time on the Hanna’s couch or in their guest bedroom that they were well versed in handling him.

“Alright, wake us up in a few hours so you guys can get some rest as well,” Kensi agreed easily, hesitating for a brief moment before going on, “if you need us before then, let us know.”

After a nod from both Sam and Michelle, the junior partners wandered down the corridor to one of the bedrooms. The door closed soundlessly behind them.

Sam sighed softly and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Focus on the good things. He’s back with us now. We’ll take care of him and we’ll protect him,” Michelle told him, coming up to him and hugging him from behind.

Sam turned in the embrace and circled his arms around his wife’s frame, closing his eyes as he breathed in her smell. “Yeah,” he agreed, nodding slightly. After a few moments of drawing strength from his wife’s embrace, he slowly stepped away.  
Michelle gave him a small smile. “He probably hasn’t eaten in a while. I’ll make something. Why don’t you get the medical supplies ready that we acquired earlier today?” Michelle suggested softly, pushing Sam into the direction of the couch where that particular bag lay. “And give Hetty a call.”

Sam did just that, getting their operations manager and the two techs up to speed. There was no new development with Abramov as far as they could tell, but now that Callen was with them, Hetty would pull out the stops and make sure they got some more answers. With one ear, Sam listened to the water in the bathroom shut off. He wrapped up the phone call with Hetty just as he heard the bathroom door open and soft, uneven footsteps pattered down the corridor. Sam shared another glance with Michelle before he turned his attention to his partner stepping cautiously into the room.

Taking charge of the situation, Sam stood from the couch and turned to face Callen. “Let’s make this quick. A brief check over, some food and then you go and rest,” Sam directed.

He watched as Callen’s eyes came over to him, a flicker of stubbornness entering but dousing just a moment later, replaced by that dull exhaustion again, “not one of your kids, Sam,” Callen muttered as he hobbled closer.

He had expected a stronger argument from his partner. The fact that he didn’t argue about needing to be checked over showed Sam just how badly he must feel, how out of sorts and how out of control. Again, he shared a brief glance with his wife, finding the same thoughts reflected in her expression.

“Let’s start bottom to top. Off with the joggers,” Sam directed when Callen stopped next to the couch. G looked as if he wouldn’t be able to get up again once he sat down, so they would start with his legs - with the wound that was most obviously bothering him. This time, it was a flicker of panic that flashed through his partner’s eyes before they cleared once more.

“Sam,” he hedged, another hint of stubbornness appearing.

“G, just let us check. You won’t go into a hospital as we’re not out of Abramov’s reach yet, but we need to know what we’re dealing with. Your knee has been bothering you and just from the way you move, I know there are other injuries hidden underneath that clothing.” That, and the almost tangible waves of pain that rolled off of his partner’s frame. “Michelle and I will check you over and make sure you don’t need a MedEvac into Ramstein. So please, sit down and let us help,” Sam implored.

“There’s not much you can do for the knee; took a kick to the side of it a while back. Guess some ligaments are wonky,” Callen murmured but eventually acquiesced when Sam just waited patiently. After another brief moment of hesitancy, Callen quietly took off Deeks’ jogging pants and sank down onto the couch.

Xxxxxxx

He knew from his partner’s gaze that resistance was futile. And if he managed to resist Sam and maybe even Michelle, he guessed they would simply call in and put Hetty on his case. Too drained to really resist, on the one hand not wanting them to see what had happened to him while on the other hand glad that they cared enough to force the issue, Callen simply sunk down onto the couch after tugging down the jogging pants, leaving him in the boxer shorts that Deeks had added to the pile of clothes in the bathroom.

He watched through half-lidded eyes as Sam visually took in the damage to his legs, the swollen and discolored knee, the large and gnarly scar on his right calf from a knife, the superficial bruises and cuts, even the raw rings of where manacles had so often been settled around his ankles. He watched as Sam sighed softly before reaching for his left leg, making brief eye contact with him before making the physical contact. Callen grit his teeth when Sam palpated the area around his knee before carefully moving the leg.

“How can you even stand on that?” his partner asked incredulously.

Callen shrugged, “necessity,” he answered simply. Being unable to walk just hadn’t been an option.

“Michelle, check if there’s ice in the freezer,” Sam called softly over his shoulder, smiling when she appeared beside him only moments later with ice and some towels. “Hopefully that will help with the swelling,” he murmured when he wrapped the ice around Callen’s knee, making him jump when the cold penetrated the slowly resettling fog in his mind.

Reaching for some salve and bandages, Sam took care of the abraded flesh around his ankles, carefully checking for infection.

Callen watched on, dispassionate and somehow feeling disconnected from himself. The pain was there, as was the exhaustion and a feeling of security from being around people he trusted. It was a strange mix of feelings that still somehow didn’t get past the barrier of the fog that settled over his mind.

Michelle perched on the arm of the couch beside him, reaching over and smoothing a hand through his hair when Callen glanced over at her, “hey, friend. Good to have you back with us.”

His head rolled towards her, their gazes connecting, grounding him somewhat. He tried to return the smile she sent his way; it felt more like a grimace.

“Alright, nothing more to do here,” Sam murmured a little while later, barely breaking the quiet hush that had fallen over the room, “take off the hoody.”

Again, Callen wondered whether to resist or not, in the end deciding it wasn’t worth the argument. Then again, he had painfully gotten into the garment; he didn’t especially look forward to getting out of it again. That, plus the hoody was warm, a luxury he hadn’t had in a long while. He was loath to part with that warmth.

“G,” Sam warned softly when he didn’t move in several long moments, obviously mistaking the delay for Callen becoming stroppy.

Callen blinked slowly, focusing back on Sam. “Might need some help,” he admitted in a murmur, “careful with the left arm. Shoulder has been dislocated a few times.”

He didn’t comment on the brief glance shared between husband and wife, instead merely sat forward when they both reached for the hem of the hoody, forcing himself to suppress the flinch once they made contact. This touch wouldn’t dish out pain, instead they would help soothe the aches. Both Sam and Michelle were quiet when the damage was revealed, ribs standing out prominently, testament to not getting enough food. His skin was mottled with numerous bruises in various states of healing all over his upper body. More knife wounds littered his chest, though they were shallow and often precise cuts instead of stab wounds. His back was a mess of crisscrossing whip marks also in various stages of healing. He knew some of them were weeping blood again after the last 24 hours of movement and his recent shower - and having torn off the scabs when he had taken off the shirt for the shower earlier. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, swallowing the nausea that tried to climb his throat, when Sam’s gaze landed on one particular wound on the left side of his chest. He hated that particular mark, hated what it stood for, hated knowing this wouldn’t fade but remain prominent to remind him of the months of captivity and pain.

His eyes snapped back open and he flinched away from an unexpected touch, shrinking back into the couch and trying to focus back on the present, on Sam’s worried glance and Michelle’s strong and soothing presence beside him.

“Easy there, partner,” Sam murmured, holding his hands up in the universal gesture for meaning no harm.

“Sorry,” Callen panted, shaking his head, “got lost for a moment.”

Sam nodded. “No worries. Just relax and trust us,” he murmured soothingly and slowly reached for him again.

He couldn’t quite suppress the wince when Sam’s fingers made contact with his ribcage, starting to palpate and check for broken bones. “Three cracked on the left side, one or two on the right. Don’t think they are broken this time,” Callen told him softly, sucking in a breath when Sam found the cracked ribs in question, his vision graying momentarily in reaction to the pain. When his sight sharpened again, Michelle sat closer than before, her hands on his upper arms stabilizing him and keeping him upright.

“Want me to wrap the ribs or rather go without?” Sam asked, knowing he usually hated the restriction of having his ribs wrapped.

This time, Callen actually internally debated that offer. “See about my back first. If you need to cover the slashes, we might as well wrap the ribs,” he suggested slowly, ignoring Sam’s surprise. “Just go ahead, Sam. I don’t think I can hang on much longer,” he admitted, his eyes closing again.

He allowed himself to drift somewhat, some part of his mind still attuned to what Sam and Michelle were doing, while the rest of him sunk deeper and deeper into the exhaustion radiating through him. He fought to hang on to consciousness for a while longer. They were cleaning wounds, spreading salve over them and generally taking care of his battered body. Callen slowly blinked his eyes open again when he felt Sam’s presence withdraw, trying to pinpoint his partner’s new position and finding him rifling through one of the go-bags on the floor by the hallway. The shirt he came up with definitely wasn’t Sam’s or Michelle’s, probably Deeks’ again; a button down this time, making it easier for Callen to get into it. Still, he had liked the hoody, was tempted to get one for himself. Michelle wordlessly helped Callen into the shirt before shifting in front of him, doing up the buttons. He would have protested if he had been coherent enough. Instead he felt himself swaying where he sat, his vision darkening every few moments before he blinked it into focus once more.

Moments later, Sam was back, taking up his now bandaged wrist and pushing a sandwich into Callen’s hand. “Take a few bites,” he advised, “painkillers next and then you can lie down. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

He also felt that way, wasn’t even sure if he was actually upright anymore and how much of that was Michelle’s doing. Callen mechanically chewed some bites of the sandwich, not tasting it, just mindlessly following Sam’s direction, hoping his stomach would accept it and he could keep it down.

His eyes felt heavy, only growing heavier with each blink. The sandwich was taken out of his hand and exchanged for two pills. Again, he simply followed Sam’s gentle order to swallow them down with the glass of water that was held to his lips next.

Michelle moved while Sam took over and held him upright. Together, they maneuvered him into a lying position on the couch, propped up on his right side, his left arm tucked close to his chest so his shoulder would be stabilized. It hurt, but he knew that it wouldn’t matter how he lay, as any position would put pressure on some wounds or another. A blanket fell over him moments later and Michelle’s fingers stroked through his hair, for once not bringing a flinch at being touched, his mind spiraling further towards the darkness that approached. The last thing he heard before he was swallowed by the cloud of sleep was Michelle’s gentle voice whispering a soft “sleep well.”


	7. Chapter 7

Sam was in desperate need of a punching bag.

If Ivan Abramov was to walk through the door now, Sam doubted he would be able to stop himself from beating the man into a bloody pulp. They probably wouldn’t even need to hide a body once Sam was done with him.

Seeing what that man had done to his partner over the months of captivity had left Sam speechless. He had seen G through many an injury, even through some that had been inflicted in captivity, but the level of what he had seen today surpassed his worst nightmares.

How G had even been able to stand, let alone escape and make his way through three countries on his own, was beyond Sam’s imagination. It shouldn’t be physically possible. Then again, that was G Callen to you. If his stubborn partner set his mind to something, there was not much that could stop him. Still… Sam glanced over to the couch where his partner lay.

Taking care of his wounds had taken far longer than Sam had anticipated, more than an hour of cleaning and soothing wounds, wrapping bandages and generally taking care of the wounds on display. And that had only been those wounds that were visible to the eye. Sam didn’t doubt for one second that there had been forms of torture during the last months that wouldn’t have left visible wounds or scars. And that didn’t even touch the psychological side of things. Sam knew his partner, knew he was resilient and trained both, but everyone had a breaking point and Sam had always feared what would happen if G ever reached his.

His partner was dead to the world right now, his breathing even, his body still. Sam had watched his partner’s coherency fade, had seen his mind succumb to exhaustion and his awareness dulling. It was a testament to how much trust G had in them, that he allowed himself to let go this much while they were still tending his wounds. He hoped G would remain asleep for several hours. His partner rarely slept, but right now, he desperately needed the rest. His body needed time to heal. Sam wondered if they should extend their stay in this rental property for another day, wondered if they could risk it. He guessed they would check in with Hetty and the wonder twins in the morning.

Sam glanced up when the door opened, his hand automatically going to the gun at his back, only relaxing when Michelle slipped inside. She had checked the perimeter, making sure there was nothing outside to send their alarm bells ringing. While they had taken precautions and were reasonably sure that Abramov wouldn’t find them here, no one would risk being sloppy. No one would risk Callen. When she gave him a reassuring nod, he relaxed further and followed her into the small kitchenette. They could still watch G on the couch but wouldn’t disturb him with a quiet conversation.

He leaned against the counter while Michelle took out two glasses and filled them with juice. He would prefer something stronger but accepted one of the offered glasses and took several sips. “I hate what that man did to him,” Sam murmured, his eyes once more straying over to where his partner lay, “on top of all of the injuries, the asshole actually branded him, Chelle,” he hissed quietly, a new wave of fury crashing through him upon remembering the brand on G’s chest. It was located high on the pectoral muscle, the skin raised in a scar, the lines of the brand well defined in a specific pattern. He hadn’t investigated that further, had seen his partner’s reaction when he had first come to see it. His eyes had been drawn to it a few times while he was patching G up, but he hadn’t allowed himself to linger on it, sure that his partner wouldn’t approve. G was an intensely private man and what Sam had seen in his eyes when he had first noticed the brand was a mixture of revulsion, shame and pain.

Michelle stepped up next to him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. “I know, Sam,” she gave back quietly and though her voice was mostly even, he still heard the emotion she tried to keep under control. His wife was as furious as he was, as furious as any of the team would be. It was an impotent fury though. As long as Ivan Abramov didn’t cross their paths, they wouldn’t be able to do much about it. The only thing they could do was keeping an eye on G and doing their best to help him heal. If anyone could bounce back from this, it probably would be Callen.

Xxxxxxx

Sam had given them a brief update on things when he woke them for their guard shift. Both Deeks and Kensi had been able to see the volatile anger in the senior agent when he gave them a very short version of Callen’s injuries.

Their team leader was set up on the couch, dead to the world. A bed probably would have been more comfortable, but Sam had told them Callen had been completely out of it by the time they had patched him up and therefore they had merely laid him down on the couch instead of getting him into one of the remaining bedrooms. On the plus side, with him being in the living room, he was under constant guard instead of being alone in a bedroom. For some reason, he thought that appealed to all of them, keeping an eye on the man that had gone missing so many months before, reassuring themselves that he was with them again.

The last thirty odd hours or so were still set on a loop in his brain, replaying continuously. Getting Sam’s phone call for the supposed ‘picnic’, only for Michelle to inform them about Callen making contact with them when she arrived at their place. Heading over to Hetty’s to set up shop and wait around for Callen to call again. Those hours had been tense, Sam’s nerves shortening by the minute. The senior agent had been close to stomping off and heading over to Kaliningrad where Callen had told him he would head first. Deeks idly wondered how much longer they would have been able to keep Sam from it if Callen hadn’t called when he did.

Hearing their team leader’s voice once he had finally called had shaken a lot of things loose in him. With ten months having passed and no more leads to check, not even a scrap of understanding where Callen had ended up, all of their spirits had been low. The longer they went without contact, the higher the possibility that they would never hear from him again. In his more depressed and cynical moments, Deeks had wondered if Callen was even alive anymore or if he had been killed, his body buried in some shallow grave, never to be found. To find out that he was alive and had managed to get out of his prison, that he was now reaching out for their help: that had felt beyond stunning.

Sitting through a commercial flight with a high stung Sam who snapped at anything that moved, had been an experience he would gladly pass upon for future reference. Deeks smirked to himself, remembering how Michelle’s furious gaze had landed on Sam after one particularly stinging comment, the mountain of a man suddenly stilling and backing down. Yeah, Michelle had been able to keep Sam somewhat grounded and Deeks had been profoundly glad for her presence.

Returning inside after checking the grounds outside, Deeks left the jacket by the door and silently slipped into the living room, his eyes instinctively moving over to the still form of Callen. He gave Kensi a small smile when she stretched in one of the easy chairs that had been positioned with direct lines of sight to the door while still allowing her to watch over Callen. He wandered over to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “That particular stretch means you’re getting stiff. Outside’s secure, but go ahead and make another round, princess,” he suggested.

“Probably a good idea,” Kensi muttered and stood up. “Keep an eye on him?” She tilted her head towards Callen. “He was becoming restless a few minutes ago.”

“Of course,” Deeks acknowledged. He watched Kensi leave the room and moved over to the window to lean against the wall next to it. He allowed his mind to drift back to its prior contemplation while his senses still remained sharp.

The drive to where they were supposed to meet with Callen had been somewhat anticlimactic, only interrupted by some stops for gas, food and a bunch of medical supplies they suspected they might need.

The hours of transit had somehow come to a sudden stop when they had eventually met up with Callen at a parking lot in the woods. He remembered sharing a glance with Kensi when Callen flinched away from Sam after struggling to stay on his feet, remembered thinking that this wouldn’t be easy just because they had found him now. Callen had seemed smaller somehow, his lean frame curled inwards. Where his posture had always projected self-confidence and power, it now radiated utter exhaustion and pain. The clothes hung on him, hiding injuries but suggesting a considerable loss of weight.

Deeks moved his attention away from the window, over to where Callen lay when he heard the man shift. He watched as Callen became restless, moving under the blanket, curling up further before falling still again.

According to Sam and Michelle, Callen had fallen asleep around 2 o’clock. It was now going onto five thirty in the morning. He knew that Callen didn’t use to sleep much, but after meeting up with him last night, after Sam’s brief description of his injuries, Deeks couldn’t help but hope that the other man got some more hours of rest before he woke - or before nightmares crowded his sub-consciousness.

Watching another cycle of restless movement, Deeks sighed softly to himself, doubting it would take much longer before Callen woke.

True to his internal musings, Callen’s eyes snapped open after two more episodes of restlessness. Deeks stood still, not wanting to startle Callen when it was obvious that he was still caught in the fading grips of whatever nightmare or memory had taken hold of him. Only when Callen’s eyes roamed around the dimly lit room and landed on Deeks, did he speak. “You alright?”

Callen replied with a shaky nod, taking several deliberately slow breaths.

Yeah, Deeks remembered his own struggles with flashbacks of torture after Sidorov. It could take a few moments before reality established itself. “Anything I can get you? Something to drink? Painkillers?” he asked softly, moving over to the couch where Callen was still stretched out, sitting down on the couch table in front of it.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Deeks,” Callen snapped, his voice lacking strength and bite though, instead suffused with pain and exhaustion.

“Yeah, no,” Deeks hedged, rebuked. He stood once more, turning away to move back to the window. Instead of leaving though, he stopped and turned back again, facing the other man. “How about a friend then?” he asked quietly, making sure to keep his posture relaxed, his facial features even.

Callen’s eyes came back to him and he could see the internal struggle. Being able to see this in Callen was unusual. The man was normally very adept at hiding thoughts and emotions, but for the moment, his walls were down and Deeks could easily see the wounded and frightened individual.

Eventually, Callen answered his suggestion with a small and slow nod. Deeks gave him a smile in return before he moved over to the easy chair that Kensi had vacated when she left for her patrol. Settling himself, Deeks started doing what he did best: talk. He covered random subjects, ranging from Monty, to some cases they had been working on to catching some waves with Eric a week or so prior.

Callen listened and Deeks could see him soaking up the knowledge of what his family had been up to, the words having the desired effect of grounding him and calming him. Eventually, Callen’s breathing evened out and his eyes slipped closed once more, sleep taking the injured man. Deeks kept talking, his eyes and focus on Callen but his senses still alert to any possible security breech.

Eventually, he noticed Kensi slip back into the room, gave her a small smile without pausing in his recollection of the barbecue they had had at the Hanna’s home a while back, Monty playing endlessly with Kamran before tiring himself out and falling asleep in the middle of the yard with Kamran curled around him.

Xxxxxxx

Sam woke after only three hours of sleep. He buried his face in his wife’s neck, taking a deep breath before uncurling himself from around her. He knew he didn’t exactly _have_ to get up - Kensi and Deeks were well capable of keeping all of them safe - but he felt the need to check up on G and reassure himself that his partner was indeed back with them.

Slipping out of bed, he went to the bathroom first before quietly making his way towards the living room, following Deeks’ voice as he was talking about being out on the water, chasing the waves. Sneaking into the room, he quickly took in the scene. Callen was asleep on the couch, Deeks seated in the easy chair opposite it and Kensi stood by the window, her attention split between the outside and what was happening in the room.

Deeks glanced up at him but didn’t interrupt his tale. When Sam opened his mouth to question what was going on, Kensi shook her head and put a finger to her lips, urging him to remain silent. She pushed away from the wall and headed over to the kitchenette, beckoning Sam to follow her.

“Seems like Deeks’ voice is keeping him grounded. He’s sleeping peacefully,” Kensi murmured.

“Leave it to Deeks to help with his inane chatter,” Sam smirked, but internally he was grateful that his partner was getting some rest.

Kensi chuckled softly before shaking her head. “Everything is quiet outside. I’ve just made another round. Since you’re up, I could head out and get us something for breakfast.”

Sam nodded. They would need some food. “Also add some more medical supplies and if you can find a shop, maybe some clothes for G that won’t hang on his frame.”

“Not sure about the clothes. This area is pretty rural. I don’t think they have a mall somewhere open at this time of the day. The medical supplies should work though. What do we need?”

Sam gave her a brief list of supplies and only some minutes later, Kensi left. Sam busied himself in the kitchen, starting a new pot of coffee. Pouring a mug, he grinned when he saw Deeks’ hungrily eyeing the brew he held. Sam fished out a second mug and filled it with coffee before bringing it over to Deeks, who took it gratefully.

He never would have guessed to stumble upon a scene like this, to hear Kensi say that Callen slept while Deeks was talking away. Then again, he wouldn’t have expected to lose Callen to an abduction for ten months before finding him a lot worse for wear both physically and mentally.

Sighing and shaking his head, Sam took out the phone and dialed Hetty’s number; it was time to check in and see where they stood.

Xxxxxxx

Awareness crept in slowly, his senses returning gradually, instead of the wide awake state he usually came to. For Callen, the transition from sleep to wakefulness had always been instant. One moment he was fast asleep, the next he was wide awake. For once, he came to gradually, becoming aware of the gentle murmur of voices close by. A small smile came to his features when he recognized the voices, his team mates, his family. Additionally, he could distinguish sounds of cutlery clicking.

Blinking his eyes open, briefly shying away from the light in the room, Callen moved, only to freeze when each of his injuries clamored for his attention. He sucked in a breath, only to moan softly when his ribs protested. He didn’t remember much of the last few hours, remembered meeting up with the team and coming to some house. He vaguely remembered being checked over by Sam and Michelle and he thought Deeks had been talking to him at some point as well, but the memories were incredibly hazy and distorted.

Noting that the conversation had quieted down, Callen opened his eyes again, finding all eyes on him. Somewhat self-conscious, he sighed and carefully reached up to rub a hand over his face before contemplating how to best get up without face-planting to the floor. Maybe he could just roll of the couch and go from there?

Sam, obviously aware of his dilemma, stood up with an eye-roll and came over to the couch. “Legs or upper body?” he asked simply. Yeah, they had done this once or twice before, usually when Callen was really bad off. That should probably tell him something about his current state.

Contemplating the question, he eventually decided, “upper body.”

Sam nodded and carefully moved a hand under his neck. “On three.”

Upon the count, Sam levered him upwards while Callen shifted his lower body and legs accordingly, ending up sitting on the couch. He was glad to find the rest of the team had returned to their meal, returned to conversing quietly instead of watching his indignity of needing help to make it into a sitting position.

“Got it from here, thanks,” Callen muttered, giving himself another moment before pushing upwards. He swayed for a second before finding his equilibrium. Obviously he passed muster because Sam withdrew and returned to the kitchenette. Callen hobbled into the other direction, dimly remembering where the bathroom was located. If he stabilized himself on the wall every now and then, nobody noticed… or commented on it.

Once he returned, another chair had been set up at the table and he gratefully fell into it, reaching for the glass of juice that had been poured and practically gulping the contents down. He did feel somewhat awake, but at the same time still pretty much out of it. Having his team mates, his family around him felt good, but the change was pretty jarring.

Picking up the mug of tea that obviously belonged to his set of cutlery, he curled his fingers around it.

“You better not pour that down your throat the same way you did with the juice,” Deeks intoned with a smirk.

Callen arched an eyebrow at the other man, finding his lips pulling into a small smirk but he refrained from replying. Instead, he felt the warmth of the mug soaking into his palms, spreading upwards through his arms. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself a few moments to just _be_ , allowing for the company and the gentle conversation to wash over him and anchor him to this new reality.

He used the time to take stock of his physical state; he was still woozy from exhaustion and pain. His shoulder felt remarkably alright, if a bit stiff. His knee was throbbing, nothing new there. His ribs were hurting with each and every movement, also nothing new. His back was stinging slightly and moving seemed to pull on some of the scabs every now and then, but it wasn’t debilitating pain anymore. Taken together, he still felt pretty horrible, but a touch more alive than yesterday.

Taking a slow sip of the tea, he put the mug down, his fingers instantly itching for the warmth it had provided, reminding him of the hoody he’d been provided with yesterday. He hadn’t felt warm in a long time, still didn’t feel warm now but at least he wasn’t freezing anymore. Shaking off those thoughts, Callen surveyed the food that had been set up. He needed fluids and something of sustenance. The burger he had tried to eat half way through Poland had been too much for his stomach and had made a reappearance. His ribs had loved that… not. Figuring he would go with some fruit and a slice of toast, he noticed Sam’s eyebrows arch upwards upon his choices. “Not a word, Sam,” he warned without looking up.

Sam barked a short laugh, a sound Callen hadn’t heard in long months, a sound that washed warmly over him. “Wasn’t about to comment,” his partner denied.

“You so were,” Callen argued back. The banter came easily, reassuring him that while his body was broken and some parts of his mind might have deep cracks as well, some things still stayed the same. “So, when are we leaving?”

There was a brief pause, making suspicion start to claw at Callen. He glanced up and allowed his eyes to wander around the table, finally landing on Sam and arching an eyebrow of his own.

“Not today. We’ll continue either tomorrow or even only the day after,” Sam said evenly, holding his gaze.

His eyes narrowed, “I can go on, Sam,” Callen said firmly, “I’m alright.”

Sam scoffed lightly, “you’re far from being alright, but that’s beside the point.”

“I got out of Russia and here by myself. I can keep going,” he growled, anger suddenly suffusing him, unsettled that they would make a fuss over this. He grabbed onto the anger, an emotion he hadn’t felt in a long time, a contrast to the feelings of insecurity and fear and pain that had been constant companions for months.

“I know that, G, but…” Sam started again, only to be interrupted by an indistinguishable growl of annoyance from Callen.

With all his focus on Sam, he didn’t notice Kensi reach over, her hand landing on his forearm. Her words were drowned out by Callen’s reaction to the unexpected touch. He flung himself backwards and away from the hold on his arm, overbalancing his chair. He would have tumbled backwards, if Sam and Deeks who were seated on either side of him hadn’t both reacted quickly and reached out, managing to grip the back of his chair and stabilize it.

“Whoa, there,” Deeks said, breathing a sigh of relief when all four legs of Callen’s chair were back on the ground, “can we please discuss this without you crashing backwards, cracking your head open and bleeding all over these lovely kitchen tiles?”

Callen felt himself shaking, both in reaction to Kensi’s touch and the fright of nearly overbalancing and falling backwards. On top of that, there was the embarrassment of having no control over himself and his reactions right now. He stood and stepped away from the table.

“G,” Sam called, his voice dropping to a soothing tone.

“I’ll be right back,” Callen muttered, turning and fleeing the room with as much dignity as possible considering his uneven gait and what had just transpired.

Xxxxxxx

Callen’s abrupt departure left a vacuum in the room. Kensi’s eyes were still on where he had disappeared down the hall. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect to…” she muttered, fading off.

Sam shook his head. “Not your fault,” he sighed. “I’ve provoked a reaction like that twice so far.” Both at the parking lot and then again when he had been checking Callen over later that night.

“Should we check on him?” Deeks wondered, but this time, it was Michelle who shook her head.

“Give him a few minutes to calm down. Callen hates being vulnerable, hates being seen as weak. He’ll need a little while to sort himself out,” she told them. “Let’s continue eating. The less we make of this, the easier it will be for him to sit back down with us.”

Xxxxxxx

It took him several minutes to calm down. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Callen put his head down, his fingers linking behind his head while he forced himself to simply breathe and wait for the adrenaline to leave his system.

Damn it, he felt unhinged. He needed to get himself back under control and his reactions curbed.

Once the shaking stopped, he stood back up and then hobbled over to the sink, glancing at his reflection in the mirror. There were some fading bruises, but what drew his attention most was the way his eyes seemed to be sunken into his skull, dull and empty. He felt empty, void of any strength. He thought he could go on with the team towards Ramstein, knew he wanted to get there to feel safer, but maybe he really wasn’t fit to continue on.

A day or two of rest at this place couldn’t do any harm if Abramov didn’t know where they were, right? Maybe he would be able to relax his guard and find a way to settle himself. The transition from being captive, to relying only on himself during the first day of escape to being taken care of by people he trusted implicitly with his safety just didn’t work for him yet. He trusted them, but obviously any unexpected touch could make his fragile hold on reality snap.

Last night, he hadn’t been in any position to make decisions anymore and he had allowed them to take over. What was different now? The few hours of rest he had gotten really didn’t make a dent in healing him. He did feel more clearheaded, but maybe he needed to trust their opinion if they doubted he should continue on.

He knew that he was resilient, had learned early to take care of himself and was prone to doing things on his own, going “lone wolf” on anyone. Usually he had reasons though - shielding those close to him from the fallout or making sure no one got caught in the crossfire. He may be considered a loose cannon by some, but he had always prided himself on knowing his limits. He would never, ever endanger a team mate or fellow agent by entering a mission he couldn’t physically handle. Even injured, he knew how far he could push his body and he had always trusted that instinct. Even after being poisoned with cyanide, he had been sure in his capabilities, had felt his condition improving by the minute.

The last months of captivity had driven him far past any line of endurance and he was still functioning in that basic survival mode. It hadn’t been an option to give up or to rest or to acknowledge the pain that ran so deep it had permanently settled in his bones.

After escaping from the mansion, he had acknowledged that he needed help, had instinctively known that seeing this through by himself would be beyond his capabilities. He had reached out to his team, knowing he could trust them. Why was he disputing that trust now? Was he really able to adequately assess his status or would he endanger his team by stating he could go on when maybe he was beyond his endurance? If they saw what he couldn’t see because he had lost his objectivity, because he had lived in a world of pain for too long to understand he had nothing more to give, he could bring them all down if he couldn’t function.

Resting was an option now. He could allow himself to lower his guard because there were other people to keep him safe. They wouldn’t let him down. They would have his back and they wouldn’t expect anything in return. It was why he had called them in, was it not?

Sighing, Callen ran some water in his cupped hands, washing his face. The cold water somehow settled him further. Wiping his hands and face, he left the bathroom to return to the kitchenette. Sitting down in the chair he had vacated several minutes ago, he sighed softly before looking over to Sam. “If you don’t think I can keep going, I’ll back down and trust your judgment,” he told his partner slowly, hating the words but having decided to put his trust in these people. And that included entrusting them with decisions he now wasn’t sure he should take for himself.

Sam’s gaze softened at his words, “you’re an idiot, G,” he said gently, “I know that you would be able to keep going. I don’t think it would be wise, but I know very well that you could hold on. That’s not why we’ll stay here though.”

Callen frowned and was about to say something when Sam held up his hand. “No, let me finish this time. I talked to Hetty earlier. Since you’re not on your own anymore now, she pulled the stops and went somewhat official with this whole thing while still making sure to stay away from any NCIS systems. Among other things, she enlisted some help from the CIA. It appears they already had Abramov on their watch list for something or another and they could provide the wonder twins with some Intel that helped them hack Abramov’s phone. They’ve been listening in on him during the night. He’s pulling in reinforcements to Ramstein.”

Callen narrowed his eyes. So the canny bastard obviously figured out his game plan, figured out that the embassies were just decoys. “All the more reason to go now so we get there before he does,” Callen stated mildly, reaching for the food left on his plate, starting to eat once more.

Kensi slowly shook her head. “Too late. Abramov and his original crew of six arrived there last night, a few hours after we came here.”

Taking a sip of his coffee before putting it back down, Deeks ruffled a hand through his hair and scowled. “He must be really desperate to get you back to dare hanging around the Air Force base on the off chance to grab you.”

Callen shook his head. “Not desperate. Possessive. He considers me a possession and for his possession to run away from him would have enraged him beyond belief,” he said softly. “The repercussions for my last escape attempts were…,” he trailed off, his focus turning inwards, his sight blurring as memories tried to crowd him. He distantly heard the clack when he put the fork down, felt his hands start to shake again. It was his partner’s voice that dragged him back to reality just moments later.

“G.”

Callen’s eyes snapped up towards Sam, his vision rapidly clearing. Shaking his head more forcefully to dispel the images, he picked up the fork again. Control. He really needed to control himself. Still, it only added credibility to his earlier musings on whether or not he was really able to keep going. Taking a slow, deep breath, he refocused on the conversation. “There are not many roads into Ramstein. He actually stands a chance to intercept us. Can they remove him from the area?” he asked.

“Not as long as he’s on German ground. No jurisdiction there. The German authorities might, but timing would be critical to be able to slip past,” Michelle argued, shutting that avenue down.

“So, we’re gonna lie low and wait for his interest to fade?” Deeks suggested.

Callen shook his head. “He’s not going to just give up. As long as he knows I’m not completely out of his reach, he won’t back down.” In the back of his mind, a small voice added a cynical and yet realistic ‘probably not even then’ to his sentence. Abramov wouldn’t give up on him. His fixation on him was too strong, and now that he had escaped, it would be a matter of driving the point home and teaching his possession a lesson. He wasn’t yet sure what that meant for his future. Taking the coward’s way out, Callen decided not to dwell on that particular topic right now.

“Hetty is working on it,” Sam replied simply, a small smirk on his lips, “I believe she said something about some Admirals still owing her favors.”

Callen barked a short laugh, mindful of his ribs, yet not quite successful in not jostling them. His hand went to his ribcage, but the mirth didn’t leave him right away, “poor Admirals.”

The comment lightened the mood around the table, chuckles and soft laughs filling the room, stories about Hetty’s interferences and her moving chess pieces or shifting the whole board being shared, allowing Callen to relax a little bit more, to trust that the nightmare was over and he was back with the people he trusted most.


	8. Chapter 8

If he allowed himself to think about it - which he didn’t - he would admit that the painkillers barely took the edge off of the pain throbbing through him. Shifting carefully, Callen tried to find a more comfortable position on the couch. He was in pain and he was still feeling cold despite the blanket covering him. Why couldn’t he just get warm?

Sighing, he drew the blanket further up to his chin, curling up as much as possible considering his injuries to conserve body heat. Looking up when he heard soft footsteps approach, he watched as Michelle came into view.

“Thought you might be asleep,” she told him softly once she stopped next to the couch.

“Have been dozing on and off,” Callen muttered, resisting the urge to shrug.

Michelle glanced at the spot on the couch in front of him, her eyes coming back up to him moments later. He nodded at the silent question, making a little more room for her by shifting backwards. Sitting down, she watched him closely. “How are you doing?”

A loaded question if he had ever heard one. Plus, he wasn’t actually sure how to answer it, wasn’t actually sure he would even be able to answer it at all. “Can’t seem to get warm,” he muttered instead, complaining about that which had been at the forefront of his mind when Michelle’s appearance had interrupted his musing.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Running a fever?” she asked, worry coloring her voice.

“Don’t think so,” Callen denied, but frowned, being reminded of his earlier thoughts about knowing his limits and having been pushed past them over the last few months.

“You mind if I check?” She asked mildly. Only when he nodded his permission did she slowly reach for him. The back of her hand made contact with his forehead and for some reason that touch got to him. His eyes fell closed and he allowed himself to cherish it. Hers was a mother’s touch, something he didn’t know well, had lost too early in his life, but right now, this kind of touch soothed the broken pieces of his mind. She was a woman that could give any of them a run for their money, tough as nails, and yet there was the soothing quality of a mother’s care in her. He usually didn’t allow himself to enjoy it, not even when he had been injured and recuperating at the Hanna household before. Right in this moment though, his whole being hungered for a gentle touch.

Her fingers lingered and he didn’t retreat, secretly glad when she didn’t either.

“Doesn’t feel like you have a temperature,” she murmured, agreeing with his assessment, her fingers still lightly tracing over his forehead.

“I just feel like I can’t get rid of the cold. I’ve been so cold for the last few months,” he whispered, not opening his eyes, not wanting to see her expression upon that tidbit of information, or seeing the worry and the sympathy in her eyes.

“Rest, G,” she told him softly. She rarely used his initial as Sam did, too used to calling him Callen. That she used it now let him know she was keeping a tight rein on her emotions to support and comfort him, “rest. You’ll be warm again.”

He allowed himself to smile upon her words, knowing what she intended and hearing the double meaning. It would be alright eventually. He was on his way home and he was not alone anymore. He would be ok.

Xxxxxxx

He had declined going to the last vacant bedroom, felt better for being in the middle of things in the living room. While he usually went out of his way to seek out a solitary lifestyle, right now, being alone didn’t hold an appeal to Callen. He’d been alone for a long time recently.

He was glad for the conversations around him, sometimes including him, sometimes being background noise when he was dozing or sleeping.

Blinking his eyes open when his name was called, Callen searched for the voice’s owner, finding Deeks in the doorway. “Kensi and I will make another supply run. Anything in particular that you want?”

“A hoody.” The words were out of his moth before he could swallow them back down, the filter between his brain and his mouth still in hibernation.

Deeks blinked slowly. “Ok,” he stated, but the way he stretched the word clearly showed his confusion.

Callen nodded towards where the discarded piece of clothing hung over the back of the easy chair. It had been tempting him since he had spied it, but getting into it had been bad last night when he had been completely out of it and more or less numb to the pain crashing through him. Now that he was more awake and the pain was not dulled by fatigue or ignorance anymore, he doubted he would be attempting the hoody any time soon.

Following his direction, Deeks glanced at his hoody. “You can keep it,” he told the other man with a frown.

“Too hard to get into,” Callen groused, “shoulder is a mess.”

“Don’t ask how we got him out of it last night,” Sam shook his head, passing Deeks on his way into the room, obviously having caught part of their conversation. His eyes sought out Callen’s form on the couch, giving him a brief once over. “So a hoody wouldn’t exactly do you any good.”

“No, but a sweat jacket would,” Michelle said, following her husband into the living room and heading over to Callen, giving him a small smile, “something warm. Similar to your hoody, Deeks,” she said, reaching for the item in question and throwing it over to Deeks. She gave Callen a wink when she glanced back at him.

He gave her a small nod and a smile of appreciation. Out of all of them, only Michelle had the knowledge of why he asked for a hoody.

Deeks caught the hoody and shrugged. “Alright, we’ll see what we can find,” he agreed easily. This was just one of the instances when Callen cherished Deeks’ presence on the team… he often just rolled with the punches and didn’t question motives. If the situation warranted it, Deeks could argue and question with the best of them, but if it was small and innocent enough, he would simply do as he was asked. Now was such an incident.

Xxxxxxx

With Deeks and Kensi out of the house, both Sam and Michelle returned their focus to Callen and his collection of wounds. He again decided resistance was futile and instead simply allowed them to check the work they’d done last night.

“So, how bad is it?” Callen asked mildly, when Michelle soothed some cream over the slashes on his back. They felt bad, spanning over his whole back, stretching painfully when he moved and itching where they healed.

“Well, they aren’t infected, which is good. Compared to yesterday, they have also stopped bleeding,” Sam told him, looking on and handing Michelle whatever she required.

Callen nodded slowly, “wasn’t sure if they had,” he muttered.

“You haven’t been moving as much since we last checked on them. That will help with keeping them closed,” Michelle said softly. “How’s the rest of you doing?”

“I’ll tell you, once I figure it out,” he replied evenly. “The pain is a constant, despite the painkillers. That’s ok, though. The knee feels somewhat better. I think the swelling might have gone down a bit.” They had iced it frequently since he had woken in the morning. “Trying not to think about the rest too much.”

“We could try to adjust the dose of painkillers,” Sam suggested, though judging from his expression, he already anticipated being rebuffed.

“No, it’s ok,” Callen declined, holding back on muttering that he was used to the pain and could take it. He didn’t want a higher dose of painkillers making him woozy and unable to wake up from the nightmares and memories that snuck up on him. He was glad when Sam didn’t put up an argument, gave his best friend a smile of thanks when he wordlessly backed down.

Xxxxxxx

The second night at the apartment was disrupted by frequent nightmares. Callen jerked himself awake more times than he wanted to admit, finding one or another of his friends close by, hovering but not touching. Feeling better physically due to having rested during the day - and no new wounds having been inflicted upon him - allowed the memories to crowd into his sleep more easily. He had expected it, knew it would take time before he could force these memories away, put them into a box, lock it, sink it on the bottom of the ocean and forget that it was there.

And that was even ignoring the knowledge of the burn mark on his chest that would serve as a visual reminder of his captivity and supposed possession of Ivan Abramov. That mark still sometimes burned like hellfire despite it having healed weeks ago… or rather having been allowed to heal. The burn lines had been aggravated repeatedly by his captors’ henchmen at first to make them more prominent and less prone to fade. Considering the conditions he had been kept under, it was probably a miracle that the wound - and all the others he had sustained - hadn’t become severely infected.

Trying to calm his breathing after waking up from another nightmare/flashback, he carefully shifted into a sitting position before getting up, waving Kensi back when she moved as if to come forward and help him. “I’ve got it, Kens,” he murmured, standing slowly and only setting out towards the kitchenette once he was stable on his feet.

Pouring himself a glass of water, he took several large swallows before refilling it and then sipping more slowly, watching his reflection in the window.

His eyes focused on movement outside and he felt adrenaline flood his body before he recognized the shaggy hair. “How is it he has never been spotted with that blonde hair of his during the night?” he questioned softly.

Kensi appeared behind him, not close enough to crowd into his personal space, but close enough to glance over his shoulder, “he would probably tell you some bullshit about it being a natural gift.”

“What? The hair or not being spotted?” Callen shot back with a grin.

“Knowing Deeks… probably both,” Kensi’s reflection grinned back at him. A few moments later, the laughter left her face and she watched him closely. “You ok, Callen?” she asked carefully.

He met her eyes in the window once more before shaking his head and letting it drop, “no, I’m not, Kens,” he admitted tonelessly, barely breaking the quiet of the room, “I haven’t been for a long time. I will be though… eventually.” A few days ago, he had been so far from being ok it hadn’t even been funny anymore. Now, he figured, he was better. Not good, but better at least.

“You know we’re all here for you, right?” she asked back in the same quiet tone of voice.

Callen put the glass down and turned slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I know and that helps a great deal,” he said gently, reaching out and tucking a strand of lose hair behind her ear. Carefully tangling his fingers in the hair on the back of her head, he drew her forward and against him, his eyes closing when she came willingly, carefully settling against him. He drew reassurance from her as she seemed to do from him. The young agent he had helped shape had grown up a lot over the years, but he could sense an anxiety in her now. Having been more clearheaded after resting, he had seen anxiety in all of them. Something had shifted in this group of people since he had been taken away. They seemed closer, but there was an energy around them that suggested that none of them had fared well. He felt humbled by the thought that his presence meant so much to them that his absence could have this much of an impact.

Xxxxxxxx

Callen woke to Sam talking quietly somewhere close by. Not hearing another side of the conversation, he guessed that his partner was on the phone… probably with Hetty and the wonder twins.

He stretched carefully, mindful of his injuries. He had obviously been able to get some more sleep after his brief conversation with Kensi in the middle of the night. He had been prepared to tossing and turning and even more nightmares, but for some reason, he had managed a few more hours of solid sleep.

“G?” Sam asked, closer than he had heard him before.

Opening his eyes and looking at his partner, Callen gave him a questioning glance.

Sam held up the cell phone. “Hetty,” he said simply, question and statement both.

Giving Sam a smile, he nodded. Before he reached for the phone though, he carefully sat up, briefly reaching for his ribs that complained at the move. Only when he had his breath back, did he take the offered phone from his partner. “Hetty?” he asked calmly. He hadn’t talked to her since before meeting up with the team, had been asleep during the phone calls that had been made the day before.

“Mr. Callen, it’s good to hear your voice,” his old mentor told him.

He could hear the barely hidden emotion in her tone. Smiling, he carefully leaned back into the couch. “It’s good to hear you as well. What are our next steps?”

“Everything is taken care off. You’ll move tonight. Sam will fill you in later. For now, I’d like to know how you are,” she told him gently, steering him away from what was to be done and back to how he was doing.

It was the same question he had heard so many times before from his team mates around him. Lying to Hetty was incredibly difficult on a good day, not saying anything would not be tolerated right now, but saying the whole truth was out of the question as well. “Alive, and somewhat functioning,” he settled on.

“No “I’m fine”, Mr. Callen?” she asked evenly.

“Would be a lie,” he gave back in the same tone of voice.

“Worked for you before,” Hetty replied, half accusation, half statement. He could picture the small enigmatic smile on her lips, knew she wasn’t angry about that particular quirk of his. She knew him well, knew that hiding behind lies about his wellbeing was just part of him.

Callen smiled to himself. Yeah, he had used that line many, many times before, had insisted until he was blue in the face - sometimes literally - and the fact that he didn’t do that now would be a surprise not only to his team but also to Hetty. Right now though, he felt he owed them all at least some part of the truth, so he tried to not hide behind those words, “don’t think it would do this time.”

“I see,” was the simple response. And knowing Hetty, she probably did see.

“I’ll go back to that in a few days or so,” Callen warned her, smiling when his response resulted in a soft chuckle.

The conversation wrapped up soon after that, and Callen put the phone down on the coffee table before limping to the bathroom. Sam and Michelle were in the kitchenette, starting breakfast. Kensi and Deeks were probably asleep in their bedroom, getting a few more minutes of rest after their last guard shift.

Knowing he might incur their wrath for having to redo the bandages, Callen still decided to take a shower, longing for the soothing warmth of the water. The sweat jacket Deeks and Kensi had brought back from their supply run the day before had helped generating some warmth. The hot water would provide more comfort. There was a slight chill that seemed to be lingering, but that too, was getting better.

When he came out of the bathroom, Sam had already set out the medical supplies and was waiting for him with an arched eyebrow. “Again?” he asked.

Not having bothered with donning a shirt or putting the sweat jacket on, he walked over to the couch and sat down. “Thought you could do with the practice,” Callen sniped back with a small grin.

Sam rolled his eyes, but the smile playing over his features let Callen know he didn’t begrudge him the shower or the verbal comeback.

Sam was still busy with the last wounds when Kensi and Deeks stepped into the room. They both drew to a stop upon the sight and Callen gave them a wan smile, trying to ignore their eyes roving over the wounds on display. Until now, the junior partners hadn’t seen the state he was in, having either been asleep or on a supply run when Sam and Michelle had checked him over. He saw Kensi open her mouth a few times, obviously searching for words before giving up and continuing on into the kitchenette to help Michelle set up breakfast. It was Deeks who surprised him somehow, questioning whether Sam needed another hand and only following Kensi when he was waved away.

He could still see the humor in the younger man’s eyes, had heard it in the tone of his voice a few times since meeting up with them, but Deeks had grown and matured somehow, and from what he had seen so far, Deeks had forged a different place for himself within this team.

Xxxxxxx

Sam moved over to the couch to wake his partner. They had packed up everything and were about to head out. G had wanted to help, but he had been relegated to the sidelines. There was not much stuff they had to take care of so they had everything in hand; that, plus the fact that Callen was still exhausted, still prone to doze off within minutes. Still, that G actually acceded to their command to stay where he was…

It was something that worried Sam. He knew his partner well and had seen him overcome many different injuries. The only times he had been comparably exhausted had been after the drive-by shooting and the Spiral virus. Both had left him in ICU for weeks. He’d been weak as a kitten back then. This time, the injuries themselves were not as grave by far, but months of captivity and torture had had a considerable impact. G had never slept much, but from the way his body was demanding rest now, the last months had taxed him a lot. Injuries, being tortured and never feeling safe had seemed to hollow him out.

“G,” Sam called his friend gently, crouching down beside the couch.

Callen’s eyes opened immediately, letting Sam know he had been dozing but not fully asleep. His eyes were clearer by now. Upon meeting with G and coming to the house, his eyes had been dull with fatigue, pain and weariness. All of that was still visible, but a lot less prominent. He also didn’t startle as badly anymore if someone moved unexpectedly. Considering they hadn’t even been here for 48 hours, it was a vast improvement.

“Time to go?” Callen asked, glancing around and finding the room around them empty.

“Yeah, we’re all packed up and cleared out. Get dressed and then we’ll head off,” Sam told him, retreating and giving his partner some space.

When G joined Sam in the entrance hall, the sweat jacket donned over some loose fitting jeans, Sam nodded simply and led the way outside. It was by now dark outside and the others were keeping watch, even though no one really expected any trouble. Abramov was still holding firm in front of the gates of Ramstein as far as they knew. Maybe, once they had G settled within the Air Force base, they could sneak back out and give the man a piece of his own medicine. Grinning darkly, Sam got into the van behind his partner.

Without comment, G climbed into the back row, seating himself in the same place as when they had come here two days ago.

“Alright, let’s go,” Sam ordered, sliding the side door closed. If everything went according to plan, they would be inside the Air base within the next four or five hours. They just wouldn’t enter it the way Abramov expected, Hetty had seen to that.

Xxxxxxx

Reaching the gates of the base, Sam lowered the window while slowing the car down. “Captain Martin is expecting us,” he showed the man at the gate his NCIS badge, “operation Night Dragon.”

The guardsman looked at the badge, then let his eyes roam around the car. Three more badges were held out, only the man asleep in the backseat didn’t have an identification. That was expected though. “He your man?” he asked Sam.

“Yeah, he is, Staff Sergeant,” Sam nodded after taking in the man’s insignia.

The guard gave a simple nod, “Captain Martin is waiting for you by the barracks. Take the next left and then head straight until you see the buildings. I’ll let him know to expect you. The exercise has been running for two hours now. You’ll be up soon. The Captain will bring you where you need to go.”

Sam gave the man another sharp nod, “thank you, Staff Sergeant.”

The other man snapped off a short salute with a muttered, “Sir,” before moving to open the gate.

And with that, the first part of their journey was completed. They had been on alert during the two hour drive, but from now on, they should be safe. If there had been any trouble, it would have happened between the rental house and the gate they had just passed.

While this wasn’t Ramstein and they weren’t yet on US soil, this was a German military base used primarily by the British Army. It also doubled as an exercise area and training center for the NATO. Neither of them knew if Hetty had managed to make up this NATO exercise maneuver out of thin air or if the maneuver had been planned before and she had merely hijacked it for their purpose. They also hadn’t asked, unsure if they wanted to open that particular can of worms with their tiny ninja operations manager.

Sam slowly rolled the van through the gate and followed the guard’s directions. In front of the barracks, a lone man stood, flagging them down. “Agent Hanna?” he asked, when Sam pulled to a stop beside him.

“That’s me,” Sam acknowledged, killing the engine. In the back, he could see G jerking awake, looking around quickly to orient himself. Their eyes met briefly in the review mirror and Sam gave him a reassuring smile before returning his attention to the man outside. “Captain Martin, I presume?”

The other man nodded and stepped back from the car, allowing Sam to open the door and get out. More car doors opened and the team slowly filed out of the van. Callen was the last to come out, using the door for support before he found his footing on the gravel with a slight grimace.

“Welcome to Normandy Barracks,” the Captain greeted, “the training mission is underway. It should be completed within the next thirty. Grab your gear, then we’ll ship you to the extraction site. A chopper will be taking you to Ramstein with the rest of the unit.”

The rest of the team was already unpacking the car when Sam handed the car keys over to the Captain. Hetty had somehow arranged for the British forces to return the car to the rental agency… again, no one had asked.

With their go-bags slung over their shoulders, Callen having picked up his backpack before anyone could reach for it, obviously wanting to do something by himself, the team silently turned towards the Captain who simply nodded and moved off, expecting them to follow. Behind the barracks were two military vehicles that would take them to the extraction site.

The team wordlessly split up and only moments later they were underway, the Captain navigating the bases’ roads away from the barracks. Twenty minutes later, they pulled up at an area crowded with different military units. Different uniforms indicated the countries present. Soldiers of different nations were standing loosely together, discussing the exercise. All in all there were roughly 80 soldiers milling around. Their relaxed stance belied their battle readiness, but clearly showed that the military training exercise was completed. The Captain pulled to a stop and both vehicles emptied quickly.

Approaching a smaller group of men, Captain Smith stopped and saluted to the superior officers before addressing the American Lieutenant Colonel present. Once the officer returned his salute, Captain Martin gestured towards the group behind him, “your expected company has arrived.”

The officer’s eyes moved over the group behind Captain Martin and he nodded, stepping forward. There was a brief round of introductions.

“Appreciate the pick-up, Sir,” Sam told the man with a small smile when they shook hands.

“Well, there’s room on the chopper and the order came from up high. Got the impression some of my men would have been booted out of their seats if there hadn’t been any vacancies for you on our return flight.” The tone of voice was mild and carrying a hint of mirth and curiosity both. Being in the military though, the man knew better than to ask.

Five minutes later, the spinning blades of the approaching chopper could be heard. Sam watched his friend when the helicopter approached, saw relief upon the blatant show of military strength. He moved over to where Callen stood. “Let’s get you home,” he told his friend.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone. This is it. The final chapter.  
> I hope you had fun reading this. Thanks again to all of you who took the time commenting or sending kudos. It was/is much appreciated.

With the return to US soil - even though it was still in Europe - some of G’s natural stubbornness returned. He argued against a medical check-up, but eventually bowed to Hetty’s demand. The results weren’t all good. The superficial wounds were mending, but both his knee and shoulder might need surgery to heal properly. Further examinations would be needed which would be carried out once they were back in L.A. On top of that, some older fractures in his lower legs that he had been practically forced to admit to having sustained during his captivity would probably have a long term impact on his movements.

G being stroppy, he refused to be kept for further observation. He was determined and no one really had the heart to force him in this regard. He wasn’t in any medical danger and he had been fine the last few days with them. Confining him somewhere he didn’t want to be would not be received well. They would remain on base for another day before flying out back home to L.A.

Sam watched his friend staring out of the window, his mind obviously miles away. He knocked softly when he entered the room, seeing G tense for a second before relaxing again. “Considering making a break for it?” he asked when he stepped up beside his partner.

Callen merely hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing and yet affirming Sam’s suspicion.

“Come on, let’s get out of here for a while. You’ve been cooped up too long.” Stepping away, he waited for G to follow which his friend did only moments later. Together, they left the base accommodations they had been given, Sam catching Michelle’s eyes on the way outside and tilting his head meaningfully to Callen. Her eyes followed and she gave him a single nod, a silent conversation between husband and wife to take care of their mutual friend.

Xxxxxxx

They were roaming the base aimlessly. Callen was glad for Sam’s company until he wasn’t anymore, bouncing between wanting solitude and wanting companionship. He felt out of sorts, wanted solitude to lick his wounds in peace and put plaster on the cracks left in his psyche. At the same time, he was desperately glad for companionship, for not being alone and being able to reach out to someone to slow the freefall he sometimes felt he was in.

The first feeling he knew well; it had always been his modus operandi. His previous stints in captivity had always ended with the feeling of wanting to have space and time to patch himself up. A few times there had been moments when he had wished for a safety net, but it had always been fleeting. This time, that desire for company was sometimes so strong he didn’t know what to do with himself. He desperately didn’t want to talk about what had happened to him in the last months, but having his team around somehow seemed to stabilize the wobbling world around him.

Callen sighed softly, mindful of the bruises, his head down, eyes on the ground in front of him. Sam was a solid presence at his side, pacing him easily. His friend seemed to know that he didn’t want to make any conversation despite most certainly having many questions.

Callen wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to answer those questions.

He barely looked up at Sam’s subtle nudge towards the right, around a corner and into a small park. They slowly followed the trails for a while. Callen felt himself tiring, his gait becoming more uneven, but he refused to rest, still trying to sort out his head. Eventually, Sam interfered and nudged him over to a bench.

“Sit down. You’re not doing yourself a favor,” his partner told him evenly.

Callen shook his head. “I can handle it,” he argued, trying to push past Sam, only to be manhandled towards the bench. Before he could decide whether or not to fight the careful hold Sam had on him, it was gone again and Sam tugged him down beside him.

“Take a break. You can continue trying to find a solution for whatever it is you’re looking for in a little bit, but let’s take a minute. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“What happened to your body being a temple and being eternally young?” Callen asked, without thought slipping back into the easy banter that had always been a defining aspect of their friendship. Of course he knew that Sam didn’t need to rest but was instead distracting him. Still, Callen jumped at the chance of normality.

“Oh please, being partnered with you has already taken off years of my life,” Sam shot back with a grin.

“No, don’t pin that on me,” Callen shook his head, relaxing into the banter with a slowly growing smirk.

“Well, who should I pin it on instead? Deeks? Kensi?”

Callen tilted his head to the side in mock contemplation. Shifting in his seat, he slowly leaned back into the bench, mindful of the healing wounds on his back. “I’d suggest Deeks. It’s the incessant talking. Hours and hours of your life going by,” Callen suggested. It was a pity that Deeks wasn’t around right now. Needling their Detective was always fun and Deeks gave back as good as he got. He had grown into the team and his spirits and humor had often been a welcome counterpoint to their cases. Callen wondered if that was still the way things worked in the Office of Special Projects or if things had changed beyond recognition during his absence.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the rays of sunshine. The gentle banter with Sam somehow helped settle his nerves once more. He still sometimes felt closer to breaking than he had ever before, but somehow in exactly those moments, someone from his family materialized beside him and provided a lifeline. Yeah, he struggled with that companionship, not used to it and questioning it, but also desperately glad for the hold it gave him. Deciding not to question it for the moment, he allowed himself to move with the flow, allowed Sam to distract him into inane conversations and comfortable silences.

Xxxxxxxx

Returning home felt somewhat surreal, yet L.A. welcomed him with typical weather. Somehow, the air smelt like home and when Nell crashed into him right there and then on the tarmac, wrapping her arms tightly around him and whispering that he had been missed and she was glad that he was ok and that he was there, Callen couldn’t do much more than return her hug and breathe in deeply.

The greeting with Eric wasn’t much less emotional, but it was coming face to face with Hetty that damn near unhinged him. His mentor watched him approach, and for once, her masks were down. He could see each emotion as it crossed through her eyes and over her features, feeling humbled by the openness she so rarely displayed.

Standing to her full height, she only reached his shoulder, but her embrace encompassed his whole being somehow. “Welcome home, Grisha,” she whispered into his ear as he clung to her, trembling slightly in her hold, emotions trying to shake him apart.

“Hey Hetty,” he croaked back, giving himself another moment to bury his face in her neck before drawing back, seeing the same shakiness reflected in her eyes.

Xxxxxxx

With the threat of Abramov still hanging over his head, Callen had grudgingly agreed to move back in with Hetty. Her properties were well protected. He agreed with Hetty’s assessment that Abramov would remain a threat to him and while he didn’t know what to do or even what to feel about that, he was pretty certain that Hetty was somehow already working on it and pulling strings in the background. He didn’t ask though, didn’t want to touch that topic, instead trying to ignore the last months and what they had done to and with him.

The physical wounds continued healing, but scars would remain, both visible and beneath the surface. He still tried to keep his eyes from moving towards the brand on his chest, hating the hold Abramov seemed to have on him through it. It simply screamed ‘property’ and ‘possession’ to him. Sometimes the mark burned fiercely, seemingly forcing him to remember its presence.

Living with Hetty meant falling back into old habits. They had shared a living space many years ago and somehow that old connection was still there.

Logically, he had expected the investigation that was launched about his captivity. His disappearance would have been an open case and with his return it could be closed. There was some attention on it considering who his captor had been, therefore high profile investigators were included. His own security clearance and past in various agencies only added to the pressure of having to know what had transpired during his captivity, whether or not state secrets had been revealed. _Knowing about it_ and _having to answer the questions_ were two completely different things though.

He didn’t want to be questioned by a committee about those months, would rather forget they happened in the first place and try to put them behind him. Even his vast powers of compartmentalizing had their limits and bringing all of that up again would be bad. Sadly, evading this wasn’t an option. Logically, he knew that, but the rest of him wailed against having to go through it. Hell, he hadn’t even talked about those months with his team, let alone an outsider or a whole investigative committee. It felt like it had so many times in his youth - having no control over what would happen, where he would be shipped, who he would face and what he would be forced to endure next. He didn’t even want to contemplate that those things also applied to the last months of captivity.

He didn’t remember many details of the first hearing, distinctly remembered losing his cool though. It had taken one question or just a specific wording of that question, to shatter his calm. Having been questioned why someone would hold him captive for ten months if not for classified information, a myriad of memories had rushed him all at once, his vision graying out and his breath turning shallow.

Oh, he had been asked questions by his captor, but they were more along the lines of whether or not he was “enjoying his stay” or how he was “finding the company” or even a sadistic demand to “describe what he was feeling”. The questions had often been whispered into his ears like a lover’s caress, often while he was still coming to terms with new pain running through him just after being inflicted. He thought he had said something along those lines to the committee, had somehow noted the speculative and worried glance Hetty had given him before she had asked for a break on his behalf. He didn’t remember how she had gotten him out of that room, his mind in turmoil and yet again completely unhinged.

He only became aware of his surroundings once more much later. When he did, he was sitting in Hetty’s kitchen, his fingers curled around a - by now cold - mug of tea, a blanket over his shoulders and Hetty watching him from over her own cup of tea. She didn’t remark on the tear tracks or the way he was shaking. Instead, she slowly reached out to him, her fingers carefully making contact with his forearm. With the memories still so close to the surface, Callen wasn’t sure if he could stand any physical contact, but once it was established, he felt the tension in him slowly fade. His eyes fell closed and he bowed his head down.

Already in his youth, he had often wondered if Hetty had some kind of magical touch. She could be fighting like the fiercest of dragons, could be as unyielding as steel or she could be like a gentle and soothing river, depending on what the situation required. Once he had gotten over his skittishness around the small lady after she had first taken him in, he had often felt her presence sooth his very being. Sometimes just being in the same room as her had calmed his troubled mind. He was glad to find that it still applied.

The last fifteen days since his escape had done a roller coaster on him. Or rather the last few weeks on top of the months before had done a roller coaster on him. He couldn’t remember ever struggling this much before with being in captivity, but then again, the physical and psychological violations he had endured had never been this intense or prolonged before.

His walls were still down, torn and shattered, but he didn’t try to pull them up right then and there. Hetty was one of the few persons on this earth he felt comfortable with being there to witness his fall. She had seen him through many a scrape during his youth and his adult years and while they often remained at a distance from each other, they did have some kind of warped mother-son relationship. They had had their differences and Hetty had withheld information from him, shaking his belief in her for some time, but at the core of it all, he still trusted her. He could allow himself to break and even ask for her help to put himself back together without it ever impacting on the respect she had for him.

The minutes ticked by as he felt the wrecking of emotions tumbling through him. Through it all, Hetty’s hand remained firmly where it was on his forearm, a quiet presence anchoring him. He didn’t know how long they had sat like that, without speaking, before Hetty broke the silence. “What did that monster do to you, Grisha?” she asked very gently, her voice barely breaking the quiet.

Callen shuddered, shaking his head and barely looking up at his mentor through his lashes, his vision blurring. “Don’t Hetty…” he whispered, his voice breaking over the few syllables.

“Oh, Grisha,” she murmured, “as is common for you, you’ve carried this on your own shoulders, trying to stay afloat. You’re hurting yourself. Running away from this is a race you can’t win. Tell me.” The command was gentle, barely a whisper, and he knew he could ignore it, and yet, maybe she was right.

He had never been one to rehash things of the past, to dwell on it and to share it with others. He’d always done the bare minimum in sharing to get himself reinstated and make the shrinks sign his papers, had done what needed to be done to write reports or get through mission debriefs. His pain was his own. It was personal and intimate, nothing to be handed to other people to safeguard, belittle or throw around. Yet, Hetty was asking him to do exactly that. And for once in his life, it felt like he could give in and come out better for it.

And so he talked.

He told her about the months and months of seemingly endless captivity, of the violence against his body and soul. He talked about the pain and the desperation, about foiled escape attempts and their repercussions. He talked about fighting against losing hope, of fearing he wouldn’t be able to hold on and keep going. He also told her about knowing that no one would be coming for him, told her about Abramov bragging that there hadn’t been a shred of a lead left for anyone searching for him. He told her about the mind-games and the way he barely trusted his own thoughts at times with all that his captor had thrown at him and twisted around in his head. He told her about his escape, the fear of recapture and the hope of staying one step ahead of his tormentor. He talked through tears of pain and anger, talked through emotions clogging his throat and exhaustion pulling at him. And through it all, Hetty didn’t interrupt, knowing that if she did he wouldn’t ever start again.

It was dark outside when his voice faded away, long past midnight.

He felt empty, completely drained, beyond his endurance once more. Callen looked up at Hetty, silently asking for direction and help. Hetty met his gaze evenly. Standing slowly, she came around the table and brushed a gentle hand through his hair, his eyes falling shut upon the gesture. Drawing his head against her shoulder, she embraced him carefully. “And yet you prevailed. Against all odds, you survived and came back home,” she murmured gently, “thank you for trusting me with this. I am so very proud of you, Grisha.”

He took a shuddering breath, allowing himself to lean against Hetty, to let her soothe his soul and hold him up for a little while.

Xxxxxxx

He had endured three more rounds of questioning with the investigative committee before it was suddenly over. It wouldn’t have ended there, but the investigation was prematurely closed when Abramov’s body was found back in his mansion in St. Petersburg. News spread fast, political upheaval in Russia always something the American intelligence community had an eye on.

Cause of death was determined as a heart attack.

He wondered.

Hetty had been very calm about the news. Callen had looked at her when the message had come in. Despite the uproar of feelings within him, he distinctly remembered the satisfied gleam in her eyes. The US government may not condone assassinations, but…

Yeah, there was a ‘but’ there. He didn’t feel like poking that sleeping bear though, instead left the bullpen and locked himself in the armory, first fighting to keep himself from shaking apart and later emptying one magazine after the other and shredding the stack of paper targets that had been conveniently restocked just that morning.

Xxxxxxx

The package had been delivered before they arrived in the morning. After Abramov’s death several weeks prior, things had quieted down. G had moved out of Hetty’s place and returned to his house where Sam picked him up in the mornings. G was still on restricted and light duty, but he was there, slowly slipping back into his role as team leader and often directing them from Ops when they went out.

With no active case, Sam powered up his computer to start on some paperwork, ignoring Deeks’ chatter about some new food truck or other. Kensi was munching on a doughnut. Eric and Nell were upstairs. Basically, everything was business as usual. The last weeks had healed some of the cracks within the team. Their orbit had re-stabilized itself and while things wouldn’t be going back to how they had been before, they at least felt more ‘normal’ than they had in a long time.

The dynamics of their group had shifted, in most areas it was a subtle shift, but a shift nonetheless and everyone needed time to adapt. At the same time, a lot of things remained the same and just slid back into place when Callen returned, which in turn reassured them all and allowed them to find their footing more easily and not worry about adapting too much.

The cracks visible in Callen were slowly healing as well. He hid them well, but Sam could still see them. He had seen what the initial questioning from the investigation committee had done to his friend, had helped Hetty guide a barely coherent Callen away. Sam doubted that G remembered his presence on the drive to Hetty’s place before Hetty had asked him to stand down. The following days, he had watched over his partner and had subtly let him know he could depend on him. Callen hadn’t taken him up on the offer, but Sam was sure he knew it was there. While the first hearing had completely unhinged his partner, it was somehow also the first day of a distinct shift in his partner’s progress. He didn’t know what Callen had shared with Hetty, but it seemed to have helped him a lot.

Sam shook his head to focus back on the report on his computer screen, only for his head to snap up when a clatter came from G’s desk. His partner stood, chair scratching on the ground as he stumbled backwards and away from the desk. He was pale; all color having drained from his face. Turning, G headed for the restrooms with quick strides. Sam glanced first at Kensi and then Deeks who both frowned back at him. Standing as well, he debated on what action to take - follow his partner or see what had evoked this reaction.

Soundlessly, Hetty appeared at his side. “Mr. Hanna?” she asked, startling him briefly. “What happened?”

Sam shrugged and then stepped over to G’s desk. The package that had been left on G’s desk was open. It appeared that only two items and a note had been inside. A pair of golden cuff links lay on the table. Picking up the note, Sam felt a sense of foreboding when it was written in Cyrillic. Reaching for the cufflinks, he took in the sigil displayed, a family crest he had seen before - in form of a brand on his partner’s chest. He swore, glancing up to where G had gone.

Hetty took the note from Sam. She just uttered a single word upon reading it, “bugger.”

There in the note was evidence of Callen’s tormentor reaching for him from beyond the grave, a ‘to-be-opened-upon-my-death-package’, a final note of cruelty, of playing the mind-games Callen had described to Hetty.

_Wear them for me, as I have no more use for them._


End file.
